World On Fire
by NeedTheDark
Summary: Begins post Luther Braxton - Liz feels betrayed by Red and ashamed of her growing feelings for him. She pushes him away only to find herself in great danger with only him to help her. As their relationship progresses they must fight not only their enemies but also themselves. FINAL CHAPTER UP NOW!
1. Chapter 1

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you_

_Strange what desire will make foolish people do_

_(Wicked Game, Chris Isaaks)_

Despite having the ability to captivate an audience, Raymond Reddington was someone who could move through crowds unseen. That's what he was doing tonight, dressed in a beautifully cut but innocuous tuxedo, floating through the throng of DC's great and good marking the retirement of some agency bigwig. He had no interest in the event, or the fawning movers and shakers of Capitol Hill. He was there for her.

Her behavior since the Braxton incident troubled him deeply. She had become sullen and secretive, childish even. But her ability to dodge even the most experienced protective detail, to deceive him…those were the actions of a grown woman, an intelligent woman who was harboring a wall of emotion. Anger and resentment directed at him. And hurt. That was the thing that made her most vulnerable. And she was making it impossible for him to protect her.

He recalled that moment in the café.

"_Are you scolding me? What are you going to do, take away my phone privileges?"_

He bristled at the memory. He hadn't liked her tone one bit. Yes she was being infuriating, but that wasn't the end of it. When she behaved like a teenager in over her head in a high stakes game he felt the need to yank her into line, make her see the seriousness of the situation. As if she didn't know. He hated those moments because what she needed then was a father figure, and, he realized, he hadn't felt that way towards her for a long time. Whatever role he wanted to play with her, that wasn't it. Before he allowed that thought to run away with him he spotted her through the crowd and his eyes widened fractionally.

The Lizzie he saw tonight was every inch the grown, sophisticated woman he admired. She stood on the other side of the room, engaged in easy conversation, tall and slender as a lily, dressed in deep blue silk which grazed the floor and rippled over her body as laughed. The neckline of her dress was demure, skimming her delicate collar bones, her hair swept up in a relaxed chignon.

Yet when she turned he saw that the dress was backless, the dark silk skimming over each shoulder and meeting at the waist, leaving her impossibly smooth, creamy skin exposed. His lips parted as he registered the sight before him; her skin seemed to glow in the soft light of the ballroom, beckoning to him like a clean slate. He found himself pondering the irony of her revealing the one part of herself that he was afraid to show. He wondered later whether his little indulgence in these ruminations was the reason he hadn't spotted the waiter earlier.

The staff at the event were young, teenagers even, possibly college students trying to make an extra buck. They were dressed smartly in white blazers, fresh faced and energetically doing the rounds in the cavernous ballroom. So why, he thought, had he not noticed this man earlier, dressed as a waiter, but older, with a hint of stubble, and, if Red wasn't mistaken, with the ghost of a tattoo on his wrist partially revealed as he reached out to offer a glass of champagne to a woman. Lizzie.

He watched as she accepted the glass and took a healthy gulp, the first sign he had seen that she wasn't entirely at ease in the company of senior agency figures and politicians. His concern grew sharply as he observed the waiter retreat quickly, putting his tray down on the nearest table and leaving through a side door. He knew since Braxton that they would come for her again. It was only matter of time. Yet here, so soon after, and in such a public place! He cursed himself for his uncharacteristic lack of foresight. Take her quickly, quietly, from right out in the open – it is exactly what he would have done.

Liz had spotted the team on the other side of the room and, grateful for the prospect of being among familiar faces, she began to move towards them across the floor. After a few steps she began to feel a coldness snaking up the sides of her face, seeming to grip her consciousness and caused her to stumble slightly. She put her hand out against one of the ostentatious stone pillars which decorated the ballroom to steady herself, her mind whirring.

The feeling was familiar somehow and made her stomach seize with apprehension. This was chemical. She had been drugged. Shakily she looked at the glass in her hand and placed it on the floor. Fighting to stay focused she cast her eye over the room and that was when she saw him. Reddington was already on his feet moving towards her, his expression unfathomable. Painful realization crashed over her, pricking her eyes with tears. He had come for the Fulcrum – that's all he had ever cared about the whole time. Not her. A thing. She had shut him out, and now he was wasting no time in taking what he wanted.

_You'll never see me again._

His last words to her echoed in her mind. She was getting foggy, and all she could think was that she had to get away from him. Moving as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself, she made for the foyer, and quickly began to climb the grand, burgundy carpeted spiral staircase which would eventually lead to the room which the bureau had booked for her for the night. Darkness seeping into her vision and nausea crowding her senses she sank against the stairs.

She had not dared to look back, but now, through the elegant wooden twists of the banister, she saw the top of his head and broad shoulders, moving quickly, purposefully, on the stairs below her. She forced herself to continue upwards, until she stumbled into her room, and locked the door behind her with the old-fashioned looking wrought iron key with which reception had supplied her earlier. Seconds later the door handle rattled. His voice when it came was calm, but stern.

"Lizzie, you need to let me in now...Lizzie."

"Please leave me alone."

Her tone was defiant but he detected an edge to her voice; she was trying not to panic. She knew she was in trouble and felt cornered. He was wretched at the thought that she was afraid of him, that she could believe that he had engineered the situation tonight to put her in this position and force her to tell him where to find the fulcrum. And yet as his mind raced, assessing the situation, he thought darkly that he had given her little reason to think otherwise.

He was a monster. She knew he had killed others for the fulcrum. Why should she trust him. And now she was in a most precarious position because of him, because he had taunted her with secrets, drawn her into a toxic web and left her believing that he didn't care for her. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the director's retrieval team moved in to claim their target.

"Lizzie listen to me very carefully. You've been drugged. You probably won't be conscious for long, you need to open the door."

He listened at the door, brow knitted with concern until a second later he heard what sounded like a sob and a muffled thud. He had less time than he thought. Ordinarily he would make quick work of any lock with his revolver but he couldn't risk hurting her in the process. He glanced down the corridor to check that it was empty, and, withdrawing a delicate brass hook-shaped tool from his jacket, worked the heavy, old-fashioned mechanism until it clicked open and he slipped inside. He entered gingerly, afraid that she had fallen behind the door. Now that he was inside the spacious hotel suite he could see that she had made it across the room, almost to the bed before she had collapsed. She lay unconscious by the bed, face down on the floor, her head resting on one of her outstretched arms.

As he walked towards her he noticed the deep blue silk of her dress pooled against the cream carpet, and the curve of her exposed back and shoulders against the luxurious material. When he reached her he quickly knelt down beside her, gently sweeping the curls of her dark hair away from her neck so he could check her pulse. Relieved to find that she was breathing normally, his mind wandered for a second, considering the scene in front of him.

The woman who had infuriated him so much. Refused to listen to him, railed at him, hated him, stabbed him in the neck with a pen and yet had somehow ignited a light that sustained him. Sweet, and beautiful, and now, he had learned, in possession of the fulcrum, the item he needed, that so many had died for already. Here she was, utterly defenseless. Just as she had been then. Twenty-six years ago, for all the pain, it had been…simpler.

Now, as she lay beneath him he recognized the power he held over her in that moment and hated himself for thinking it, hated that perhaps she was right to fear him, right to try to shut him out. For a second his pulse raced at the thought of touching her delicate skin, of making her his in every way. He could take the fulcrum and her, take everything that she has and is, utterly consume her, drink in her goodness until there was nothing left, in the vain hope that it would somehow salve his twisted insides.

Face flushed with the sting of self-loathing, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and turned to assess the situation. No doubt in breaking away from the crowd Lizzie had done exactly what the Director's team had hoped. The whole thing was likely a sophisticated set-up, right down to the hotel booked for the event, this room… She was vulnerable, and alone. But she had him. God help her, she had him.

Turning her over, he slid one arm around her waist and another under her knees, he lifted her into his arms, rose from the floor and laid her gently on the bed. Then he did a quick sweep of the hotel room, checking for alternative exits, but on the top floor of the old hotel, found no viable options. The only way out was the way they came. He knew it would not be long before the director's hired band of bastards appeared - he could already hear voices on the stairs.

Raymond Reddington could extricate himself from the most sticky of situations, slink out of the tightest spots. But he wouldn't make it out of here with her. Approaching the bed again he sat beside her sleeping form and took her hand, gently stroking her scar with his thumb in the manner in which he had seen her do when she was agitated.

"Lizzie, sweetheart they are coming for you now. They are going to take you and I can't stop it, but I will be there. I won't leave you. I will never leave you."

He kissed her hand before placing it back on the bed, rose to face the door, and straightened his tie.

To Be Continued!


	2. Chapter 2

_You're one microscopic cog  
in his catastrophic plan  
Designed and directed by  
his red right hand_

_(Red Right Hand, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds)_

As the door opened the intruders were met with an enthusiastic smile from Red.

"Gentlemen, what a pleasure!" he exclaimed. The group surrounded him in a semi-circle, guns trained on him, and then parted to allow a tall man with graying hair to step through. It was the director himself.

"Good lord director, to what do we owe the honor? What's the occasion?" he said jovially.

But when he next spoke the hardened look in his eyes did not go unnoticed by the director:

"Or do you make a habit of drugging and abducting young FBI agents?"

The director's face remained impassive.

"Something tells me you are more versed than I in taking advantage of young women, Mr Reddington", he sneered, turning his gaze towards the bed.

"I see you have made Agent Keen _comfortable_"

That last word hung in the air, dripping in sarcasm, as if he could see into the darkest parts of Red's soul and had detected his moment of weakness. Red's face remained implacable save for a twitch under his eye, which Liz, had she been awake, would have known how to interpret.

Before he could respond, one of the director's men kicked out his feet, pushing him into a kneeling position, while another removed his revolver from its concealed holster and secured his wrists with a cable tie. His jaw clenched – the first part of this little dance was done. All he had to do was stay with her whatever it took – Cooper's team would realize that she was missing before long and be able to track him using the chip in his neck. He hoped they caught on quickly.

It wasn't in Red's nature to surrender or to put his own life in the hands of others. But he knew that he must do just that if he was to be any use to her now. He fleetingly recalled Anslo Garrick's words – _'you came out of the box for her'. _He had, and always would.

The director looked at him dispassionately, breaking his momentary reverie. "I admit I didn't expect you to show up tonight, but frankly it's a gift. Between you and Agent Keen I expect to have the fulcrum by morning. I'm working to a deadline, Mr Reddington – and I'm sure you can appreciate that."

A sharp pain in the back of his head was the last thing he felt before he awoke in a darkened room, lit by a single, glaring spotlight.

Attempting to move he realized he was strapped to a chair - wrists, ankles and neck as well, which was a nice touch, he thought bitterly. The room was large and had more than a faint odor of rotting meat. He knew how these things worked, but it never ceased to amaze him how many abandoned factories and warehouses were available out there for conducting unsavory business such as this.

As his eyes adjusted he saw the glow of pale skin in front of him. It was Lizzie, not tied to a chair like him, but standing, barely, with her arms hooked to a chain above her head. He felt a tremor of panic in his gut. The director was a business man, not a sadist. But that didn't mean that the same could be said for his associates.

Her head rested against one of her arms and at first he thought she was still unconscious, until he met her eyes, wide and staring at him. Confused. Pleading. At least now that she had seen him she would know that he was not responsible for this.

The thought made his breath hitch. _Not responsible_? He was tortured by the sheer number of things he had done or said to get them to this point. To get _her_ to this point. He was as responsible as much as if he'd chained her up himself.

"Lizzie listen to me" he said keeping his voice low and calm. Honey tones disguising the bitterness of the situation. "It's going to be alright. You're going to be alright."

She didn't answer him, too afraid that she would sob rather than getting any words out. She knew she had to stay calm. Remain professional and keep a clear head. The chain was hanging a margin too high and her feet barely touched the ground. She glanced down and saw that she was still wearing dark blue satin heels, black beads glinting at the point, heels scuffing the floor.

The dress which had made her feel wonderful before now clung to her sweat-drenched body, making her feel claustrophobic and self-conscious. Yes. Self-conscious. Even in her current position. Because he was there, staring at her intensely, jaw set and green eyes full of fire. He was there, his face etched with concern, looking at her like she meant everything to him. "You're going to be alright".

"Well that really depends on what kind of progress we make tonight. Don't make promises you can't keep, Mr Reddington". The director appeared out of the shadows carrying a fold-away table, a file and what looked like a first aid kit.

"Richard, this charade has gone far enough don't you think?"

The director bristled at hearing his real name spoken so casually. He was in danger of being exposed, and the more time he spent on this issue, the more likely it was that he would lose his credibility amongst the cabal. And that, he couldn't afford.

He propped up the table, and set the items down.

He sighed. "Believe me I find these circumstances as distasteful as you, but needs must. The situation has become somewhat critical."

"Oh my goodness I'm sure it has!" Red laughed hollowly. "You screwed up _masterfully_ hiring a piece of work like Luther Braxton and now the people you answer to want results, results which you cannot get, will not get until you stop fooling around, release Agent Keen, and have a civilized conversation with me. She doesn't remember anything – surely the Braxton incident made that clear enough."

"Quite the opposite actually. Based on the information Dr Orchard was able to extract I believe she either has the item or knows where it is. If the services of the _concierge of crime_ are required in encouraging her to be forthcoming I'm sure my associate will let you know."

He undid the first aid kit, and removed a syringe and a vial. He filled the syringe methodically, carefully tapping it to ensure there were no air bubbles.

He turned to Liz, addressing her for the first time.

"Agent Keen do you know what sodium thiopental is?"

She closed her eyes and nodded, stomach twisting in knots. "It's a drug used in interrogations." _Truth serum_. Her mouth felt horribly dry.

"Of course she does" Red interjected. "She works at a government-run blacksite disguised as a post office – what do you think they do in there for heaven's sake? Decorate cakes?"

The director ignored him.

"Correct."

He rubbed an alcohol wipe on her arm before injecting her, a fact which Liz took considerable comfort in. He wouldn't bother with that if he was going to kill her. But then again, he was a cold, dispassionate man, who seemed to be a stickler for protocol, even under the most sinister circumstances such as these. Perhaps that's all this gesture was.

"My associate will be with you shortly. I suggest that you answer his questions as fully as you can." He paused before leaving, and gave her a look which could have passed for sympathy. "The faster this is over, the better for both of us."

Once they were alone, Red began to speak to her in the same deep and soothing tone he had used earlier. It was so comforting – she was cradled by his voice, the sound of him saying her name making her feel secure whilst sending the sweetest jolt through her abdomen.

"Lizzie are you hurt?"

"No." she answered, and then added "just my arms".

She looked up as far as her awkward position would allow at the metal cuffs cutting into her wrists, stretching her arms. A terrible ache coiled across her shoulders.

"Listen to me. When this begins I want you to tell them what they want to know. This isn't the time to play hero Lizzie. It's not worth you being hurt. Nothing is worth that." He felt his throat tighten as he emphasized those last words.

She looked at him, and for a second her impossibly blue eyes seemed to him to grow hard, as if his words had struck her like a palm on her cheek.

"You would love that wouldn't you?" She hissed.

He blinked at her, taken aback. The leather of the strap around his neck chafed as he swallowed.

"That's why we're here isn't it? You realized you're not going to get it from me, so you set this up. I can't believe I didn't see this coming, classic Reddington! You're doing to me what you did to Madeline Pratt. Pretending we're in this together to get me to open up. Don't think I don't know what happened with Braxton. You carried on. It was you talking to me about that night. Interrogating me. Well you can forget it!" she finished forcefully, hoping she had successfully disguised the tears of hurt and disappointment brewing in her throat.

Her words hit him like a punch in the gut. He was angry, although he knew he deserved her mistrust, which made the situation even bleaker. When he spoke his voice was calm and cold.

"I assure you Agent Keen, had I arranged this _delightful_ scenario I would have dispensed with this dreadful neck strap. It's becoming rather uncomfortable."

As she heard him address her formally, she knew she had hit a nerve. Although her words had been defiant, she wasn't really certain that he had arranged this. She had to see how he would react. Part of her clung to the hope that those times he had put his hand on her arm, held her, looked at her affectionately…that those things were real. Perhaps it was the fact that she was vulnerable, or the drug starting to affect her judgement, but in that moment she wanted desperately to believe that he cared for her.

He had said he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. But then, she thought, she wouldn't be surprised if this was Red's idea of doing just that. Perhaps he reasoned she would be safer without the fulcrum. Without him in her life. The thought stung her, and she realized bitterly that he had been right. She was afraid she would never see him again.

Neither of them broke eye contact; he returned her glacial gaze with green fire, and they remained that way until the palpable tension between them was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching softly. The Interrogator had arrived.

To Be Continued!


	3. Chapter 3

_NB: I don't own the blacklist, just taking the characters out for a spin. NOTE: T rating remains but chapter contains darker themes/whump so don't read if squeamish! _

_For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you – (Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet) _

When he came into view, the interrogator was revealed to be a tall man, younger than Liz had expected, with glasses. He reminded her of Tom, a thought which made her shudder. He noticed this and raised a hand to her face. She flinched, expecting to be hit, but instead felt his thumb gently stroking her cheek. She let out a small whimper and turned her face away.

"Shhhh" he soothed, "It's ok, you're ok. Try to relax"

"Oh I'm sorry if I don't seem _relaxed_ to you" she responded sarcastically, tugging on the chain that held her for emphasis.

The interrogator gave her a thin smile. "I am truly sorry that I can't make you more comfortable just yet. I have a…process which you will soon come to understand."

"And what's that?" Keep him talking, Liz thought to herself. The more he says, the best chance you have of figuring out how to get out of this one. She risked a quick glance in Red's direction. He looked nonchalant, but she saw in his eyes that he was observing intently. She turned back to the interrogator just as he began to answer her.

"Do you know why I am so good at what I do, Agent Keen? May I call you Elizabeth?" He didn't stop to allow her to answer. "I fall in love with my subjects. Each one is a marvel of human creation, with unique features, lives, secrets. I'm not a thug, Elizabeth – I'm an artist. I seduce each and every one of my subjects." He ran a finger gently down her reddened cheek. "You are going to tell me everything, not because I've forced you, but because you want to. When I am finished you will want to surrender yourself to me completely."

Red's stomach lurched as he listened to this little speech. During all his years as the head of a distinguished criminal empire he had learned to read people. There were many kinds of villains in the world, some base, greedy and goal-oriented. Others sadistic, psychotic, pathological. In all cases the key was figuring out what made them tick. What he was listening to here chilled him. He had come across this type before, and he didn't need Lizzie's profiling skills to understand who this man was.

This was a malignant narcissist, utterly convinced of the reality he had constructed in which he became godlike to his victims. A sadist who took pleasure in emotional manipulation, in systematically dismantling every cornerstone of his victims' psyches until there was nothing left but him. The man known as the interrogator was not on the blacklist, but he should be.

"That's all very heart-warming" Red chimed "but none of it will do you any good if she doesn't have the information you need. I'm sure – what was it? 'Falling in love' with me won't be nearly as gratifying for you, but I know everything there is to know about the fulcrum, and she knows nothing. Believe me - if she did, I would know." He licked his lips.

The interrogator looked at him quizzically, his head leaning exaggeratedly to the side. After a moment he fished in a black duffel bag, brought out a roll of duct tape and approached Red slowly. In a voice which sounded full of genuine concern, he said "I understand Mr Reddington. This must be very difficult for you. You feel the need to protect her – you feel responsible for this situation. And in a way, you are. How painful it's going to be for you to watch her spill her secrets to me. Have you ever got her to truly open up, Mr Reddington? Or will I be the first one to turn that key?"

Red attempted to maintain a passive expression, but Liz thought she saw a flash of something pass over his face for a second. Rage? Panic? Much as the level of control he maintained disturbed her, the thought that he might be powerless here frightened her deeply.

"In any case I'm afraid I can't have you interrupting while Elizabeth and I are getting to know one another." The interrogator chuckled as he placed a length of duct tape over Red's indignant mouth, stripping him of the last weapon he had.

Liz could feel the drug working through her system slowly. It reminded her of being drunk, and happy. Hanging there in front of the two men she felt she had an audience. She wanted to perform for them. She knew what they wanted. Images came into her head unbidden of the fire, a crumbling doll's face, and child's toy rabbit. She giggled involuntarily.

The interrogator smiled warmly at her, went over and gently kissed her hair. "You sound relaxed, Elizabeth. Happy. I want you to be happy. You can trust me."

His voice snapped her back to reality. "Go to hell" she retorted. She had already decided she wasn't going to give it up. It would feel like the ultimate betrayal – betraying that 4 year old girl. She expected this to anger him, but he smiled at her and caressed the top of her head affectionately.

"We need to trust one another if this is going to work, Elizabeth. I need to know that you will treat me with respect." He trailed his fingers gently up her arm until he reached her wrist caught in the metal cuff. He caressed it, running his thumb thoughtfully over her scar and pressing his fingers into her as if taking her pulse. Then, without warning, he brought his other hand up, and forced her hand backwards violently against the cuff with a sickening crack. He had broken her wrist.

Her scream echoed throughout the building and tore Red's heart to shreds. His blood boiled at the sight of this maniac comforting her as she wept from pain. The twisted fuck was now holding her gently, smoothing her hair and shushing her.

"You see Elizabeth, now we know where we stand. I can trust you to respect me, and, as long as you do that, you can trust me not to hurt you again. Do you understand?"

She nodded weakly, her face drained of colour.

"Much as I would love to have all the time in the world to get to know you, we don't have much time. I believe you already know why we are here."

He reached for the file on the desk and opened it.

"Let's start with an easy one. Do you know what the fulcrum is?"

"Yes." She whispered.

"Good girl. You're doing well. Now, do you know where it is?" He spoke softly in a sing-song voice, like an elementary school teacher.

Her thoughts swirled, cloudy, filled with smoke and fire and pain and euphoria. When she didn't answer him. He stepped towards her, cupped her chin and gently caressed her cheek which was wet from tears.

"Elizabeth darling, you have to trust me enough to tell me. Remember what happens when you don't trust me."

She caught Red's eye, trying to focus on him. He stared back at her, trying to communicate with his eyes – _Tell him. Give him anything he wants. Please don't let him hurt you again._

She shook her head. It was taking everything in her power to resist opening her mouth and allowing all the thoughts crowing her head to spill out. The fulcrum. The fire. Him – Red. She blushed at the thought that she might reveal her most private thoughts about him. The dreams she had experienced in which he came to her.

The interrogator brushed his thumb delicately over her mouth. For a horrible moment she thought he was going to kiss her. "Sweet" he murmured. That was it. She could no longer bear his proximity to her and instinct took over. She thought fleetingly of Tom as she brought her knee up sharply and hard as she could, landing it squarely in his groin. He lurched backwards and groaned, doubled over.

Red was simultaneously proud of her and distraught. _No Lizzie, please don't make him angry._ Red's mind was whirring. Where the hell was the cavalry? How long was it going to take Cooper's idiots to figure out that she was with him and activate his tracking chip? He couldn't rely on his own team here, at least not until it would be too late. He had been flying solo tonight and hadn't expected trouble. By rights he should still be at the soiree so they would not miss him yet. He damned himself to hell. He couldn't lose her. Never. And oh God not like this.

The interrogator recovered quickly, his sinister mask of pleasantness having dropped for only a second. He approached her again, more abruptly this time, and in a heartbeat his hand was wrapped around her throat. "It's ok" he said softly, "I understand completely. That drug our friend insisted on is making you angry and confused. You need some time to adjust to my methods. Let me show you."

As he spoke, his fingers began to tighten on her neck, the pressure increasing slowly but constantly. Her eyes widened as she realised what was happening; she began to struggle, twisting away from him as he cut off her air supply, but he remained calm, impassive, tightening his grip until she began to grow still. The moment she stopped struggling he released his grip, held her head up and tapped her cheek sharply. She gulped down a massive breath and coughed, the room coming back into focus.

She couldn't bring herself to look at Red. But just as her consciousness returned, so did the fingers on her neck. Again, slowly at first, but growing steadily tighter until the room in front of her began to fade away. This time she turned her gaze towards him, and the last thing she saw as she slipped into unconsciousness was his face, glistening with tears.

TBC!


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Darker themes, Violence/whump remain for this chapter + 1 oblique reference to child abuse - you have been warned! As ever I don't own the Blacklist. I'm just playing with the characters. I promise to give them a break at some point - just not today ;-)

_There's a reckoning a-coming  
and it burns beyond the grave  
its lead inside my belly  
cause my soul has lost its way_

_(Blood on my name, The Wright Brothers)_

Liz slowly began to come to, with a searing pain in her wrist where her weight pulled on it. Through the fog she heard a low but heated conversation taking place a few yards away. The director had returned.

"For God's sake you nearly killed her – I hired you to get answers which won't happen if she is no longer with us!"

"Please stay calm – I can assure you we are making excellent progress. I have never _accidentally_ killed anyone"

The director shot him a look of disgust and walked over to Red, who blinked, but not quickly enough to hide his emotion.

"Thankfully I think another angle has revealed itself, hasn't it Mr Reddington?" The director reached out and peeled the tape from his seething mouth.

"If she…" Red swallowed, unable to finish the sentence he had begun. "Richard, so help me there won't be a place left in the world you can hide from me!" he spat, his eyes thunderous. "Not a single hotel, Richard. No bank, no Chinese laundry, not a single, tiny cave on a mountain anywhere on this godforsaken planet where I won't find you and deliver you to hell _myself_."

Liz shifted in an attempt to regain her footing to relieve the strain on her wrist, but her exhaustion was paralysing and she moaned in agony. The sound caught their attention. As she opened her eyes she heard Red choke out "Oh thank God, thank God" followed by something in Arabic she didn't understand. She had seen many sides of Raymond Reddington over the last year, but she didn't think she'd ever seen him afraid.

The director laughed quietly. "You know in my younger days I spent some time in the gulf. I was a woeful solider as you might imagine, but I found I had a talent for languages and picked up Arabic rather quickly. It's a beautiful language really. What was that – my love? My life? Goodness – that was unexpected! I wonder what secrets you two have been sharing."

He turned his attention back to the interrogator. "In case your twisted little brain didn't manage to catch that, he's in love with her.", he said with a chuckle of disbelief. "Use him. Do whatever you need to do to finish this. I need it by morning." And with that, he left Red and Liz alone with their tormentor to contemplate the new reality the director had created for them by saying those words aloud. _He's in love with her._

Red was no coward, but much as he had forced himself to watch while the interrogator had begun to choke her, he could not now bring himself to look at her. He had felt it was his punishment to watch her hurt because of him. But he couldn't bear the thought of what he might see in her eyes now the director had uttered those words. Anger. Disgust. If he was going to die tonight, that would not be the last thing he saw. He closed his eyes, and pictured her smiling face in the sunlight. But had he caught her eye at that moment, he would have seen something more uncertain, something akin to confusion, or even wonder.

Their reverie was short-lived. The interrogator had returned to her side, with a lazy smile on his lips. "This is going to be even more entertaining than I expected." he drawled, breaking a moment that was more sacred than he could ever fathom. "What does she taste like, Mr Reddington? Or don't you know?" Reds eyes snapped open. The interrogator turned to face him, and seeing his face, he finished softly: "you don't know."

Without looking away from Red, he began to trace his finger across the neckline of her dress from the shoulder to the centre. When he reached the curve of her throat his hand began to slide slowly down, smoothing over the silk and pausing to caress her breasts before travelling down to rest on her stomach. Liz turned her eyes away from both men, blushing furiously and trying to focus on her wrist, on keeping her feet on the ground. She found the pain a comforting distraction.

When she heard Red begin to speak, she almost didn't recognise his voice. It was weary, bitter and so cold. The voice of someone who had been in the dark for too long.

"Do you really think this is going to work? You're an _amateur_" he hissed. "I've been wrenching information out of innocents since before you were born, but I never got off on it like you, you horrible little pervert. Frankly, it's unprofessional." He laughed cruelly.

The interrogator's eyes narrowed. He didn't remove his hand from Liz, but it stopped its descent. Red continued.

"You know I was a happy child, at one time. Were you? Did you have friends? Or were you the type of boy that other children stayed away from? I bet they were afraid of you – children know when there's something wrong even if they don't have the words to describe it." Red paused, observing the interrogator's face intently. _Just a little further. Just get him away from her._

"Did your mother touch you?" He whispered. "Have you ever managed to get-off without thinking about choking the life out of a woman?"

Liz felt the hand leave her stomach, and became aware of the tears spilling silently down her face. The interrogator approached Red, his hands shaking. He reached behind him and removed a revolver from his waistband and, wide-eyed and trembling, aimed it at Red's head.

Then out of nowhere the air was filled with noise, so many noises and lights, the shouts in the background of Cooper's team, feet hammering across the boards of the warehouse. There was a grunt from the interrogator as he took a bullet in the shoulder, staggering backwards and dropping his weapon on the floor near Red's chair. The swat team surrounded them, securing the interrogator and carefully lifting Liz free of the chain. By the time they had cleared the main hall, the director was nowhere to be seen. Ressler approached Red, undoing the straps that bound him to the chair.

Shoving Ressler aside, Red sprang up, grabbed the revolver from where it had fallen by his chair, and fired at the interrogator who was kneeling, handcuffed and bleeding on the floor. His aim was flawless – the man was down instantly. He moved quickly towards him, his face blank and eyes like marble, firing again and again until the magazine was empty. The second the last bullet was discharged he dropped the gun and fell to his knees, hands on his head, as he had when he surrendered to Liz in the park. Ressler reached him in an instant, kicking the gun away and securing Red's hands behind his back. As he attached the cuffs he shot a meaningful look at Liz who was sitting with a paramedic, her face frozen in horror.


	5. Chapter 5

Note, this is one for the angsty among us. As always I don't own the blacklist or the characters.

With no one else around you  
No one to understand you  
No one to hear your calls  
Look through all your dark corners  
When you're backed up against the wall  
Step back from the line of fire

(Line of Fire, Junip)

Later at the hospital, Liz prepared to leave, pulling on the jeans and casual white cotton shirt she kept in her go bag at work. Although she hadn't really been able to talk to them, the team had been great, bringing her things and checking on her. She had been admitted in the early hours of the morning, and had spent the day feeling glazed and numb, allowing doctors to examine her neck and set her wrist while she went over and over the night's events in her head. She'd had an hour or so of fitful sleep and a most welcome shower, but the more she thought about everything that had happened, the less it made sense.

She gathered her things over her good arm, her wrist bandaged and set with a splint. They had given her some wicked strong painkillers and she had discharged herself AMA, desperate to get away from the clinical smell of her hospital room. As she turned to leave Ressler entered the room and asked how she was, surprised to find her ready to go.

"I'll live" she said wincing, her voice hoarse. "I guess Reddington's free reign is over now. After that." She thought back to the expression on his face when he had emptied the gun into the interrogator's head. If she had nightmares about this day – and she was sure that she would – they wouldn't be about the interrogator. They would be about him. His face. And the terrible things he had said.

"You haven't heard?" Ressler's tone was apprehensive. "Reddington's out. He and Cooper hashed it out – I don't know what the hell he said but it must have been good. He's out. I guess it's true – Raymond Reddington can officially get away with murder." He paused. "Not that anyone's going to miss the guy he shot. You know. After what he did to you", he said tactfully. "Can I give you a lift home?"

Liz was floored by the news. Ressler was right – Reddington could get away with murder. She wasn't sure why his actions had frightened her so much. She was even grateful to know that the interrogator was no longer out there. And deep down, she knew that Red had done what he could to save her. If the swat team hadn't shown up when they did, he would have been killed.

She turned to Ressler. "No thanks – I have some stuff to finish up. I'll get a cab."

"Ok, if you're sure", his expression doubtful as he left the room.

She wasn't sure of anything, except the fact that she had a desperate need to see him. There was so much left unsaid. She had become increasingly less tolerant of his evasiveness and half-truths over the past few months, but last night had marked a turning point. She had the fulcrum. She needed to know why it had been in the house all those years ago. She needed to understand how she was connected to all this. But most of all, she needed to understand…him. She thought briefly of what the director had said and cringed inwardly at the thought of Red watching the interrogator touch her intimately.

As she sat in the cab on the way to the safe house she began to wonder if going there was a mistake. She'd been through hell. Exhaustion crept over her and the painkillers were stopping her from thinking straight. But he had proven that she could trust him. Hadn't he? She realized she didn't even know where he would be tonight for God's sake. But she had a feeling it would be the writer's house. It's where she would go – somewhere with beautiful light that would chase away some of the shadows from the night.

When she arrived, the door was unlocked.

"Hello?" She announced herself uncertainly in the darkened hall. "Dembe?"

She heard Red's voice from the sitting room ahead.

"He's not here. Come in Lizzie."

His voice sounded flat. Fatigued. She opened the door to the sitting room and closed it behind her to keep in the warmth of the fire. Darkness had fallen by the time she got there; the fire was the only source of light in the room. He was sitting bathed in orange shadows on the mahogany chaise, unusually disheveled, cradling a glass of scotch in one hand.

He motioned to her to sit. He looked exhausted. She chose a spot on the chaise, not too close to him but not purposefully distant either.

"Drink?"

"Painkillers" she answered, shaking her head.

He regarded her splint.

"How 's your wrist?" His voice was tight.

"It hurts." She answered truthfully. She didn't feel the need to lie to him.

"It will heal" He said gently. "When I think about what nearly happened…" A shadow passed over his eyes as he registered the purple bruises forming on her neck, unmistakably finger marks. "There are some unfathomably evil people in this world, Lizzie. And I wish to God you weren't such a target for them." He paused. When she didn't answer, he continued.

"I understand that you don't want to give me the fulcrum and I won't ask you to, not yet. But you need to understand that while it's in your possession, you are not safe. I am trying Lizzie, but…" his voice trailed off and he ran his forefinger agitatedly across his top lip. They sat silently for a while.

She thought of the interrogator, on the floor with Red standing over him, face like a stone while he fired again and again.

"You didn't have to kill him." she said quietly. "Don't pretend you did that for me. It was revenge, pure and simple."

"There is nothing simple about any of this" he replied, draining his glass and placing it firmly on the table in front of them. "The way he touched you… it was disgusting." Red visibly shuddered. "The world is better off without people like him".

His words felt proprietary, and anger ignited inside her as it occurred to her that what had really bothered him about the interrogator was that it was someone other than him manipulating the situation, manipulating her. He didn't love her. He loved control.

"What's the difference between him and you?" As the words escaped her mouth in little more than a whisper, she felt the anger she had been storing up for months breaking loose, fueled by a potent cocktail of painkillers, cascading around her like a devastating tidal wave that she was powerless to stop. She found her voice, damaged as it was.

"You both crave attention. You both break down everything and everyone your victims have until only you are left. Don't you see that's what you've done to me? Can't you see that?!"

She got up from the chaise and backed away from him, shaking and lightheaded. His eyes were now wide and alert, fixed on her, his lips parted in shock.

"You have taken everything from me – Sam, Tom, the child I was going to adopt. You have left me alone with only you to turn to. Isn't that what you wanted all along?"

"Lizzie…" he said sharply. She cut him off. She couldn't stop herself and the words kept coming.

"Congratulations _Red_! I have no-one. I'm here, alone, completely yours! Your _whore_", she spat, meeting his stricken gaze as she said it. "Take the fulcrum, take what you want from me - I promise I won't fight back! Not anymore." She began to shakily undo the buttons of her shirt, choking back tears, trying to sustain her anger, an emotion preferable to the desolate grief she felt shuddering below the surface.

It was an audacious move, and as she undid more buttons exposing the curve of her breasts in her bra she saw his face twist into an expression she had never seen on him before. It terrified her. Within seconds he had crossed the room and for a moment she thought he was going to strike her, and she backed against the door. But he didn't touch her. He stopped, just inches from her face, staring down at her with darkened, glassy eyes, his jaw trembling slightly. When he finally spoke, it was with a depth of emotion she hadn't thought him capable of. This was the real Raymond Reddington. And he was deeply, deeply hurt.

"So this is what you expect me to do. This is how little you think of me." He swallowed hard. "God knows I have done terrible things, but I have never, _ever _forced myself on a woman. I have never and will never do _anything_ to intentionally hurt you. Everything I have done, whatever you might think of my actions, has been for you. To protect _you_." He paused, composing himself and taking a step back.

"We both loved Sam" he continued with feeling, "but he was dying and about to expose secrets that would have amounted to a _death sentence_ for you. Tom was working for Berlin. He betrayed you in every possible way and you know full well you could never have had a child with him. So blame me, hate me if you want Lizzie, but don't expect me to listen. It's too painful." His voice softened. "It's just too painful." At those last words the wave bubbling inside her crashed, and she sank to the floor in a haze of exhaustion, dizziness and tears. He stepped forward to catch her, and brought her down gently, gathering her to him silently, holding her tightly.

She heaved with sobs, all the shock of the past night ricocheting through her, the pain of everything she had lost that year tearing at her insides. Yet as she took in his proximity, his smell, the way his arm muscles tightened around her, his waistcoat undone and soft cotton shirt smooth against her chest. The feeling came again, unwelcome, unbidden. A warmth inside her, and sudden awareness of the fact that her breasts were half-exposed and pressed against him. It was suffocating.

Her head swirled – what had she been thinking going there, she thought wretchedly. She tried to catch her breath and found herself pushing him away, scrambling up, her non-injured hand grasping for the door handle. He released her instantly and made no move to stop her. After she had left, he remained in the same position on the floor until morning, when Dembe arrived and helped his friend to bed.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_I'll look up to the sky, _  
_And leave this world behind you _  
_And run for cover. _  
_I'll look to higher ground _  
_And see this world around you, _  
_There'll be no hesitation. _  
_But can you move and shake? _  
_Are you a dead man or a fake?_

(Great Sky, by Other Lives)

It had been weeks since that night and nothing. It was not unusual to wait a week or so for word from Reddington, but his absence was soon noted by Cooper and the task force, and there was talk of contingency plans. What would happen if he didn't come in? Would he be pursued or would the task force disappear as silently as it had been created? Liz had told no one about her last meeting with him. She couldn't bear to think about it.

They had tried using his tracking chip to locate him, but they had discovered that it was no longer active. Worse, Aram found evidence that it had been feeding back false information for at least the last couple of weeks. Trust Mr Reddington to suggest state of the art DARPA technology and then find a way to beat it, he had said. Cooper and Ressler had not been impressed. Liz silently agreed with him, but any amusement she might have felt was tempered by the guilt and shame she felt over that night.

The fact that his chip was no longer working strongly suggested that he had quit his arrangement with the FBI, and her. He didn't want to see her again, and she was surprised at how painful that thought was to her. The others had tried to talk to her about Reddingon – did she know where he was, was she covering for him… She simply told them no, which was true, but she found herself wishing like mad that she was privy to his plans. Just to know that he was ok.

During the hiatus, the team had gone back through old blacklist cases, looking for other lesser criminal parties who had played roles in the enterprises that were the subject of their investigations. Ressler called it 'the grey list', because the targets were often dull, like accountants running dodgy funds or hospital administrators siphoning off resources to underground chop shops.

Whilst Liz also found it tedious, she welcomed the opportunity to go over all the old blacklist cases. When she did, patterns emerged even more strongly than before. She saw the connections between them, and, whereas before she had been focused on Berlin, she realized now that there was another, bigger pattern at play which she couldn't see properly yet. It all kept coming back to Russia, she thought. There were days when she also saw links to herself, her own life, but she was afraid that this was just what she wanted to see.

At the end of another week, Liz and Ressler gathered their things in the office, bemoaning the fact that they hadn't had an exciting take-down in weeks. Ressler started musing over Red and the cases he had brought, and Liz noted that Ressler spoke about them with almost an air of nostalgia. She remained guarded as she listened, and hurt silently inside.

"It was weird actually", Ressler continued. "I was there when the medic at the blacksite checked Reddington over when he came in. He's sure as hell been in the wars. Friggin' burn marks all over his body."

Liz felt a lump of ice form in her stomach.

"Burn marks?" She whispered. "you mean like cigarette burns?"

"No" he responded. "More like he burned alive in a fire and lived to tell the tale."

And there it was - the truth that had been gnawing at the edges of her consciousness since she was in the chair with Dr Orchard. Liz felt like she couldn't breathe, as though a fist had closed around her heart. She made an excuse, and stumbled to the privacy of her office.

When Red had disappeared after the Anslo Garrick debacle he had told Liz that wherever he was, he would be there for her. She sincerely doubted that he still felt that way, but at the time he must have given her a way to contact him. She would never do it on behalf of the task force, but now the floodgates were opening. She needed him like she never had before; she needed to ask him face to face, to hear him confirm it. She needed him to hold her again. Blood rushed in her ears as she removed a bag of cell phones and business cards from the bottom drawer of her desk.

She tried several numbers, all now disconnected. As she was about to lose hope, the last one she tried rang, and after a while Dembe picked up. "Dembe I need to see him" she said, her voice unsteady.

"Agent Keen, I am sorry that will not be possible."

"Please." She knew she sounded like a little girl and she hated herself for it. "Please Dembe. This can't be the end of it."

She thought for a second that he had hung up but then he spoke gently.

"Agent Keen, Raymond has gone – I have not seen him in nearly 2 months."

_Two months_, she thought. Since the night she went to see him.

"Dembe I need to see him. I know you can tell me where he is. You always know how to find him." She paused. When he didn't respond she added "I know about the fire".

"Meet me at Marshall airfield tomorrow night. 8pm." Before he hung up, she thought he heard him say '_Allahumm-ashfi Sadry__ '– God help me._

When she stepped out of the plane the warmth of the Cuban sun enveloped her. Dembe had brought a small case for her, expertly packed with loose trousers and shirts, a sundress and sandals. She wondered where these things came from, whether he had chosen them, or whether Red had kept them for her, before that night in the warehouse. Before everything changed. She had chosen to wear the sundress – soft white with pale blue flowers, it was elegant - attractive yet traditional. Like him.

The dress also matched the hotel; when she arrived at the location Dembe had given her, she found it was a grand, white stone building with rolling terraces and acres of garden overlooking the glittering ocean. Trees aching under the weight of rich pink flowering vines swept the floor, and as she took in the breath-taking view from the hotel, she saw him in the distance across the lawn. His silhouette was unmistakable. He sat in a deck chair facing towards the water, legs crossed and wearing a cream suit and matching fedora. She took a deep breath and crossed the lawn until she stood beside him, the soft grass tickling her sandaled feet.

"This view is so beautiful" she breathed. He turned his head upwards to look at her, squinting behind his sunglasses, his expression unreadable. If he was surprised to see her, it didn't show. For a while neither of them spoke, until he finally turned his gaze away from her, staring out over the ocean.

"There's a traditional Irish folk tale, in which a travelling merchant meets a beautiful fae woman in a forest. She enchants him and he spends three days and three nights in her company, basking in the warmth of her smile. Her laugh. She makes him feel like nothing could ever hurt him. He wakes on the fourth morning to find that she's gone. And he goes about his life, sees many people, many places, places of great beauty even, but he can no longer see it. Feel it. The finest wines taste like vinegar. Rare sugars and spices turn to ash in his mouth. And so, a beautiful view, like this one, doesn't mean anything if he can no longer feel it."

As he spoke she thought her heart would stop. She thought of his tale of the blind fish, and it occurred to her that perhaps it was she who had been blind after all.

"I know that story, Red." she said slowly. "Sam read me fairy tales when I was a kid. In the version I had the merchant travels the world hoping to see her again. And he does. In the one I know, she kisses him, and he comes back to life."

He looked up at her again and smiled tightly. "When you've lived the life I have Agent Keen it becomes harder to remember the happy endings." He rose abruptly from the lounger and for a sickening moment she thought that he was dismissing her. He seemed so distant. But then as she stood there he gestured across the lawn towards the hotel. "Would you like to join me for a cocktail? They honestly have the most sublime ingredients here, exquisite."

She nodded and they walked in silence across the grass, a warm, gentle breeze billowing the folds of her dress around her. As they reached the hotel she turned towards the terrace bar, but saw he was headed for the lift. They traveled to his suite, and neither uttered a word. Once inside, she took in her surroundings. The rooms were bright and spacious, with little evidence that there was anyone staying there. The view from the veranda was the same she had seen from the lawn. He began mixing ingredients on a tray on the counter, and shortly handed her a glass which contained a bright blue liquid. It was an Aviation cocktail, like the one he had chosen for her in Montreal. She took a sip and closed her eyes. When she opened them he was looking at her, expectantly.

"I need to see, Red" she said quietly.

His face twitched and he moved his head slightly.

"See what." It didn't sound like a question. She persevered.

"Your scars."

There was a pause as if he was formulating some quip about her wanting to get his shirt off, but he remained silent. He removed his cream linen waistcoat and began unbuttoning his shirt. He slid the white material over his shoulders and threw it gently over a chair behind him, regarding her intently. She set down her drink and approached him hesitantly. From the front she could see veins of raised skin, paler than the rest, creeping over his shoulders. She put a hand gently on his arm. When he didn't move, she walked round behind him, and in that moment she knew it was true.

It had been him she remembered, on the floor of the house. Burning. It was he who had grabbed her, saved her, carried her out of the house, still clutching her toy rabbit. The memory of the smell of smoke and charred flesh crowded her thoughts. She reached out and ran her fingers gently over the raised flesh, patterns as complicated as the web he had drawn her into. She rested her palm against him, pressing her own scar to his, both born from the same flame. He stiffened, as if poised to spring away from her, but didn't move.

She moved back round to face him, moving her hand from his back to his shoulder. She dipped her head, forcing him to meet her eye. "It was you. You saved me."

He looked at her, eyes full of apprehension.

"Yes." he said simply.

She closed her eyes and kept her hand on his shoulder. He still hadn't moved, his arms hung at his sides.

She shuddered as memories of their conversations hit her. Her eyes snapped open.

"I told you my father saved me. You didn't say anything. You let me carry on believing that!'

He swallowed hard.

"You seemed to treasure the memory. The only memory you had of him. I couldn't be the one to take that away from you."

"The things I said. I asked you whether you had ever done a selfless thing in your life." She cringed at the memory. "How could you bear to be around me?"

"Being around you was the only thing that made any of it bearable." His voice was deep and soft. Barely above a whisper.

Liz looked at him, their eyes burning with the acknowledgement of their shared history. She slowly lent forward to touch her lips to his, getting close enough to feel his breath on her mouth before she felt his strong hands on her shoulders moving her gently but firmly away from him. Her breath hitched. As she looked into his eyes she was overcome with the sadness and longing she saw there. His words, when they came, seemed desolate and final.

"No Lizzie. Please don't. You don't want this."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Note: Please note the rating change to M. This chapter is very much NSFW – if you don't want to read about Red and Lizzie finally coming together, turn back now. They've been through so much that they definitely deserve this moment so I had to write it, but I'm really terrified about posting it. I hope I've done them justice. I love this ship so much. As ever, not mine. **_

Among the living

Among the living again

Out in the light of day's warm embrace again

(Spring among the living, by my morning jacket)

Her smell as she had leaned into him had been intoxicating – fresh cotton, the smell of her hair, her skin in the sun, a hint of fragrance. She's going to be the death of me, he thought to himself. And no, not by stabbing him in the neck with pens, or getting into life or death situations. She was wrenching parts of his heart he didn't know he still had. He should never have never brought her to his room. He knew better than that. Pushing her away was going to be one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. But it must be done. He saw tears well up in her eyes at his rejection and reached out instinctively to hold her face in his hands, to wipe her tears away. He looked down at her and spoke gently.

"I've had my chance at happiness. A family. The man I was is gone. And you deserve all the happiness in the world Lizzie. You deserve so much more than me."

"What about what you want, Red?" she said quietly. "Don't you deserve happiness?"

His hands fell back to his sides and he stared at her for a moment. "You said it yourself Lizzie, many times - I'm a destructive force in your life. And if I recall our last encounter, you thought me capable of hurting you in the worst way." He looked away for a moment, pained by the memory. When he turned back to speak to her his tone had hardened. "And perhaps I am. Make no mistake Lizzie, I am a dangerous man. And my continued presence in your life will only put you in greater peril."

"I don't believe that." Liz responded in a whisper. Then her eyes widened with realisation. "You're afraid. You think you're not deserving of love. You can handle people hating you, or being scared of you, but when I tell you that I care about you...that I've fallen in love with you…that terrifies you."

His mouth opened slightly as he listened to her, processing her admission. She stepped forward and raised a hand gently to his cheek. "I'm not going to let you push me away" she said, almost imperceptibly.

When she leaned in again he didn't try to stop her. Her lips met his with the softest touch and it shattered him inside. This impossibly sweet girl, offering him a second chance. A chance at redemption. For a moment he was perfectly still, before the emotion he had been supressing swelled within him, and he drew her to him, deepening the kiss, sliding his hands through her hair, overwhelmed by the passion he felt for her, the way in which she was now giving herself to him completely, freely, because she had chosen to, because she had seen that there was something worth saving, as he had seen her all those years ago.

He felt her hand slide hesitantly down to his belt buckle, drawing him back to his senses. Breaking their kiss, he caught her wrist and looked at her with an intensity that seemed to ignite her every nerve ending. "Lizzie, that's as far as you should go." His tone was low, almost menacing. "You're playing a very dangerous game here."

"I can handle myself" she responded with a small smile, her expression doing little to hide her arousal.

He looked at her, flushed cheeks, her eyes swimming with desire, her graceful neck that he wanted to kiss and suck and bite more than anything in the world, the curve of her breasts under the cotton dress. Bare, smooth legs bathed in the Caribbean sunset. She looked like pure heaven and for a second he wondered whether if he took her now, he would in her arms find forgiveness for all that he had done. It all came back to one, simple fact. He loved her. And so when he spoke, it wasn't to tell her she meant everything to him, that he lived every single day for her. But it was the truth. He owed her that.

"Lizzie you can't possibly fathom just how much I want this, but trust me you don't. I've been so deeply corrupted by this life that everyone I touch is tainted. And what I have come to feel for you…" He paused and blinked, his lip trembling almost imperceptibly. "The intensity of my feelings for you are such that I know without a doubt that you would be swallowed by it. Once I had you I would never let you go. I'd draw everything that is good out of you, force you to compromise yourself irrevocably. I would _destroy_ you. And I cannot bear to draw you into the darkness in which I live. I care for you too much for that."

Liz took a deep breath.

"Remember after the auction, Red. The King family."

His jaw tightened – how could he forget. He had almost died with her name on his lips, and then she had appeared like an avenging angel. His angel. She continued -

"I realised then that for all your grandeur, you didn't think you were worth saving. You've cast yourself in the role of some miserable demon and treat me like I'm completely innocent, like you might break me – corrupt me. You have this so wrong, Red. You aren't the devil and I am stronger than you know."

He smiled wryly – "oh yes, you've made that clear on multiple occasions".

Her voice was quiet but firm. "I don't need protecting - I need to be loved."

"You are loved, Lizzie. Beyond all measure."

As he spoke, she looked into his eyes with an intensity that matched his, and he allowed himself to cling to her words, grasping to find truth in them, because in that moment he knew he would make her his whatever the consequences.

When he put his hand on her back she thought for a second that he was going to steer her out of the room, but before she could protest, he had swept her into his arms, carried her to the next room and placed her firmly on the bed. She looked up at him, shocked, her face flushed. He stood over her and looked down into her eyes, before taking her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. When he spoke his voice burned.

"Lizzie I need you to think hard about whether this is what you really want. You have to be sure you won't regret this, because…" He paused and his voice seemed to drop an octave. He lowered his hand. "Because when I look at you I'm certain I can protect you from anyone in the world except myself."

She answered him by taking the hem of her dress in each hand and pulling it off over her head. She dropped the white and blue cotton on the floor without breaking eye contact with him. If he had to think of a way to describe her expression it would have been pure honesty. She was seductive, oh yes, but this wasn't a seduction. When he looked into her eyes he saw desire but something else also. It was as though she could see the future, and it was perfect. She was naked underneath the dress except for white panties, plain with a hint of lace at the edges.

"God you are _rapturously _beautiful" he breathed before pushing her back onto the bed and pressing his lips to hers in one smooth motion. She arched herself up towards him, opening her mouth to accept his tongue and crushing her breasts into his chest. He groaned in her mouth, and withdrew so that he could take one of her nipples between his lips, his hand searching out the other one, gently rolling her pink bud between his fingers, causing her hips to buck upwards. She felt adored, his mouth and hands exploring her, nipping and sucking and marking her, taking in every detail. She ran her nails across his chest, writhing and making little mewling sounds. He had never heard anything so delightful – the sight and sound of her losing control under him had his cock straining so hard against the confines of his pants it was becoming painful.

When she bucked her hips up again he began to run gentle kisses down her body, pausing to sweep his tongue over the place where her hip bone met the top of her panties. He used his knee to gently part her legs and ran his fingers up her thighs, caressing and stroking her until he reached white cotton, now wet with her arousal. He smiled rapaciously at her when he discovered the state he had driven her to; she blushed with embarrassment but held his eye as he slid her panties off, revealing her slick folds. He groaned at the sight of her splayed beneath him, completely naked and desperate for him to make her come. He trailed his fingers over her center with the lightest of touches before bringing both hands to rest firmly on her inner thighs, pinning her to the bed, totally exposed to him. For all she had shocked him, he was still Raymond Reddington. He needed the upper hand.

"Tell me what you want Lizzie" he said, smiling down at her lasciviously.

She was blushing furiously now, a pink glow which crept over her chest, up her neck and into her cheeks. It was enchanting.

"Kiss me" she said biting her lip.

"Oh I thought you'd never ask." He smiled wickedly and she felt him place the gentlest of kisses at her core, before he began to caress her with his tongue, expertly bringing her to the brink of ecstasy and stopping short of allowing her release, wanting to prolong the agonizing pleasure of her taste, and the sight of her writhing as a result of his ministrations.

"Red _please_"

She moaned, bringing him back to reality and reminding him of his own desperate ache for release. He closed his lips around her, tonguing her hard until a shattering orgasm hit her, and at that moment he slid two fingers inside her, rubbing against her G spot. This was pleasure beyond that which she knew was possible. She felt as though every fibre of her being had been ignited – it spread down her thighs and upwards over her swollen breasts and into her cheeks. In the distance she could hear her own cries of pleasure and his gentle laughter, his pleasure at having elicited this reaction from her.

As he watched her ride out her orgasm beneath him, moaning and gasping for air he almost lost it completely.

"God Lizzie, watching you come has got to be the most erotic thing I have ever witnessed" he rasped, his voice gravelly.

And it was true. Despite the fact that he had slept with more women than he'd like to admit and experimented with everything from the kinky to the downright bizarre, his sweet, unpredictable Lizzie coming undone that first time would stay with him forever.

He lent down and kissed her gently on her mouth, and caressed her cheek. When her eyes finally opened and met his he said something she didn't expect.

"Sweetheart, are you on birth control?"

"Mmm" she cleared her throat. "Yes."

"Good." he responded, and she realized that the moment had come. "Because I am going to take you now" he said, his voice calm and thick as treacle as he undid his belt and slid his trousers and boxers to the floor, toeing off socks and polished leather brogues. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, her eyes wide. She felt the residual warmth of her last orgasm building again as she looked at him, kneeling above her, one hand caressing her thigh, the other holding his swollen cock.

" I need you to say it" he commanded, gently.

"Please Red…Ray…I want this. I'm sure."

He bent down and found her mouth, wrapping one arm around her, sweeping her into an urgent kiss as he slid into her. She gasped, and he registered pain in her eyes for a second. He stilled, gently kissing along her jaw and whispering in her ear that they could take it slow, that he didn't want to hurt her.

She surprised him then by placing her hand on the back of his neck and, with a low moan, bucking her hips towards him whilst pulling him down, drawing him into her completely. As she brought him home he felt reality - of which he was always so aware – slip away. The pleasurable ache he had felt inside swelled like a fist, the feel of her smooth thighs sliding against him again and again as he rocked in and out of her, slowly at first, then harder – first searching for his release and then something more, for forgiveness, redemption, and he felt sure that she could give it to him. She cried out and he felt her begin to spasm around him.

"Come for me Lizzie… come for me sweet girl" he gasped

She threw her head back, her orgasm tightening her grip on him until, unable to fight any more, he came deep inside her like she had ripped his soul from his body, and felt complete peace for the first time in twenty six years.

_To be continued. (Of course it would be far too easy to leave it there - these two have more to come before they can figure out whether they can really be together...)_


	8. Chapter 8

_**As most Lizzington shippers agree, Red and Liz can't just settle down now and live happily ever after. There is so much she doesn't yet understand, and who can say the extent to which his demons will derail things. As this fic continues it explores these darker aspects, while Liz makes a decision which will affect the rest of their lives.**_

_**Disclaimed, as usual.**_

I tried to be the lover to your nightmare

Look what you made of me

Now I'm the heavy burden that you can't bear

Look what you made of me  
(The Devil Within, by Digital Daggers)

6 Months Later

Time since that first night together seemed to rush by like sand in an hourglass; so much had happened and yet nothing was resolved. They were not a couple in any sense of the word that Liz could think of, excepting their utter devotion to one another. She loved him until it tore her apart inside, although she often felt that she didn't know him much better than she had on the first night they spent together. The profiler in her sensed that he was carrying a huge weight that she was not privy to; he would rarely let her in to see that part of himself. Sometimes he would talk about his family and the past – usually after several drinks – but more often than not he would stop himself, and stroke her neck and wrist where the interrogator had hurt her months before, his expression dark and pained.

She lived alone in an apartment she had chosen and Red had insisted on vetting and paying for. He was often absent, and remained glib and mysterious about his activities. For her protection, he insisted that their relationship remain the tightest secret, even from the team. She suspected that Cooper knew, but she never gave him reason to question, and he never said anything. She continued to work with the team chasing Blacklisters when Red chose to impart the information, although he had become increasingly overbearing with regards to her safety and on more than one occasion his interference had led to some heated discussions between them.

For the most part when they were together he was so incredibly tender, and seemed to treasure every moment with her, but there had been other times now and again when a dark mood seemed to take him. Those times he became distant, and if they were alone together he would make love to her so forcefully and with such intensity, draining her physically and emotionally, that it was like he was trying to claw back his humanity by taking hers. They were both wound tight as springs, stubborn as each other, constantly negotiating, pushing each other's boundaries without any resolution. Apart, they were desolate. Together they were utterly combustible.

Four months after their relationship had become intimate Red had told her he was going to Russia for a while on urgent business. He said that under no circumstances was she to follow him – her presence would endanger both her and his whole operation. She challenged him, not for the first time exasperated as to why he still deigned to share so little with her about his clandestine activities and her own history. Two weeks after he had left, Cooper had assembled the team to inform them about an operational breach in Russia; one of the task force's assets with the CIA had been compromised and killed along with a known associate of Raymond Reddington in Moscow. Liz and Ressler were to leave immediately. Despite Red's warning, Liz didn't hesitate to accept the mission. This was different – this was her job.

The task force operation in Russia had been messy. Poor intel had led Liz and Ressler to a large, supposedly abandoned old safe house which, it turned out, was now in the hands of a clandestine group of former KGB operatives. Attempting to clear the house, Liz had been blindsided by a man who disarmed her, grabbing her wrist and forcing her to drop her gun. As he held her wrist something seemed to change and he talked quickly in Russian – she wasn't sure who to. He then put an arm about her neck, held a gun to her head and yelled excitedly into the darkness.

She was sure she felt Red before she saw him. He emerged from the shadows, glass from broken window panes cracking under his feet, pistol in his gloved hands, aimed at the man's head. His expression was blank but his complexion was more ghostly than she had ever seen. He was white as a sheet. The man continued to speak Russian in a fevered tone, and Red responded; when he said the words she had a brief flash of understanding, though she had no idea where she had picked up any Russian:

"Eto ne devushka" – It is not the girl.

Feeling the man's grip lesson for a second she had seized the opportunity and jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow, but before she could finish the move by bringing her fist up to his nose he had recovered, and grabbed her by the throat, pinning her against the wall. This move had left him exposed, and Red didn't hesitate to take the kill shot. By the time Ressler had burst onto the scene, Red had vanished, having said not a word to her.

When she returned to her apartment a few days later, exhausted and confused, she had switched on the side light to find him there, sitting in a chair in a darkened corner. She vaguely remembered lightly chastising him for his propensity for sneaking up on her, although her glib remark was short-lived. He was the same ghostly white that she remembered, his face like a stone.

He had lost his temper with her then in a way that she had never seen – he was always the picture of serenity even under the most trying circumstances – and it was terrifying. When he started it was like fire and ice raining down on her, piercing her armour, bringing tears of shock and anger to her eyes. Why had she _DEFIED_ him? Did she take _PLEASURE_ in endangering her own life and his? Did she understand she had forced him to _KILL A MAN WHO HAD BEEN HIS BEST LEAD_?

Her time with him had emboldened her, and rather than cowering she had responded just as angrily – his best lead to what? How the hell was she supposed to know when he never explained anything? _How DARE he try to control her life_?

He had said then that she was behaving like an impetuous child and that he couldn't trust her not to put them both in jeopardy. Shocked and hurt, in the heat of the moment she had moved to slap him. She remembered his jibe – _so, the cat shows her claws_ – and how he had caught her wrist in a vice-grip, twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her against the wall, forcing his knee between her legs to prevent her from striking out again. She remembered struggling against him, suddenly and inappropriately reminded that they had been apart for two weeks.

She remembered the way he seemed to read her mind, running his fingers up between her parted legs, whilst continuing to pin her arm painfully behind her back. She had wrenched herself around, finding his mouth and they kissed as though they had been apart for months. She thought of what happened next. He had grabbed the back of her neck, roughly steered her towards the centre of the room and bent her over the back of the couch, his hand coming round to the front, undoing her jeans. She remembered how she froze then.

_Sex and violence balanced on the blade of a knife. Nothing taken which is not given._

If this was a milonga – a negotiation – then she was losing. Losing here, and losing in their tumultuous relationship. He sensed the change in her and released her immediately.

"God I'm sorry Lizzie. I'm sorry."

And then he had left, leaving her to contemplate what had just happened. That was the first time but not the last that she thought back to his warning:

_I would destroy you._

The day that things changed was like many others that they had shared over the past few months. She had spent the day chasing down the coordinator for a particularly nasty drugs cartel, and by the time she reached Red's hotel room she was exhausted. As she approached him a wave of nausea crashed over her and she felt her legs go weak under her. He was there in an instant, holding her gently in his arms and helping her to the bed.

"Lizzie are you alright? Were you hurt today?"

"No I'm fine. It's just been a long day. I'd like some water please."

"Of course" He returned in a second with a glass which she sipped. The nausea returned as soon as the water hit her stomach and she rose and walked slowly to the bathroom. She didn't want him to know she was going to be sick.

After she had cleaned herself up, she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and the realisation hit her with a jolt to the stomach that almost made her vomit again. She had been careful. Hadn't she? They'd had a hefty caseload recently. She'd been travelling a lot – perhaps she had not been careful enough. How long had it been? She was late. Even as she had the thought she knew in her heart it was true – she was carrying his child.

That night she curled up into the bed, and he appeared by her side, pulling the covers over her.

"Goodnight Lizzie" he said in his softest tones. "You'll feel better after a good sleep."

Her mind raced. The way he had tucked her in was almost like she was a child. Would he do that for their child? No! The thought alone made her cringe. She imagined telling him, telling him he was going to be a father, and none of the scenarios she pictured did anything other than fuel the rising panic she felt. He wouldn't want a child. He'd be horrified. He'd already had a family. He had made it very clear how afraid he was of meaningful attachments, of vulnerabilities. She made him weak. And if she was a vulnerability, what would a helpless baby be? And then, he was right to be afraid. Her child – the child of Raymond Reddington – would be a target from the day he or she was born. The last thought she had before falling into a fitful sleep was of Naomi Hyland, hiding out in the cabin, tortured because she was once married to Red.

The next morning she rose early and left quietly, careful not to wake him.

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N Ok major angst coming up – Red struggles to makes sense of Liz's sudden departure and is devastated when the truth is revealed to him. Meanwhile, Liz turns to someone else for help. I feel that there is so much focus on how Red hurts Liz in the show and elsewhere, there is a need to explore how she might hurt him, intentionally or otherwise. When you love someone you have no control; the one who you love the most can hurt you the most.**_

_**As ever, I don't own the Blacklist. I've received so many insightful comments about this fic and am very grateful – keep them coming!**_

If I could fall  
Into your arms,  
Sweet love, it means,  
I swear I did no harm.  
And all I've seen, And all I've done  
All it means I'll be sorry when you're gone.

(No sugar in my coffee, By Caught a Ghost)

When Liz didn't contact him that day, Red was concerned but not overly so. The job was demanding, even without the twists in the road presented by the characters he sent their way. But when he hadn't heard from her by the morning, when she hadn't answered his calls, and then, when Cooper had sent a message through Dembe to ask if he had seen her….then his typically calm, razor sharp mind began to fog with panic, documenting all the possibilities. After the director's last stunt he had kept very close tabs on all activity in those quarters. She had made it clear that she would never accept a security detail, so he had settled for having all the threats to her he could foresee monitored closely instead. There was nothing.

Then, in the days that followed, reports started coming in that painted a bleaker picture than any of those he had imagined. She had posted a short, written resignation to Cooper, which explained nothing, allowing them only to confirm that it was indeed her handwriting, and, at Red's insistence, her fingerprints. A routine inventory of his business contacts and interests had turned up some anomalies. His contact in the state department had used the billing code for one of Red's dummy accounts to issue several passports for a young woman.

Although nothing else appeared to be out of the ordinary, it was enough for him to start investigating. He didn't need to lean hard on his associate to learn that a woman matching Liz's description had contacted him for help arranging a new identity, but from there the trail had gone cold. The passports did not appear to have been used, nor had the aliases, although he had them flagged for any activity. He tracked down criminal contacts she had met during her time at Quantico, grasping at the possibility that she had reached out to them for help, but hit a dead end.

When she had left that morning she had been careful to avoid routes with traffic cameras, but he received his first solid lead when he learned that she had driven past an RTA with police attendance, and her license plate had been recorded on their dash cam. Although they never found her car, it seemed that she had been heading for a small local airport, yet she had not flown under any of the aliases he knew about and all of the passengers on the manifests for that day and those that followed checked out.

And then there was the fulcrum. On the day she went, she had left a small, stuffed toy rabbit on the dressing table in the hotel room. In the immediate aftermath of her departure he had been too panicked to notice it, but later on in a dark moment of solitude he had observed it, a sickening memory over twenty years old coiling in the back of his mind. He grabbed it, squeezing it tightly in his fist. Even before he tore the stitching on the rabbit open he knew what it was and what it meant and oh the ache in his heart was unbearable. She had left it for him. She had left him.

He tried to take solace in the fact that she had wanted him to have it, to be ok, but it was a cold comfort. After the terrible events of the night they spent at the hands of the director and his associate, Red had not mentioned the fulcrum to her again. It was enough to know that she had it, and he had her. It had become a point of principle for him; he knew that she would give it to him when she was ready, when she trusted him enough to give up the one card she felt she had to play.

But she hadn't trusted him, and, he thought desolately, he had utterly failed to show her that he could be trusted. He had continued to try to shield her from the truth about the night of the fire, and about who she was, and in doing so he had alienated her. Worse, he had been angry with her – anger borne out of fear for her – but anger nonetheless, which at certain points had led him to behave in ways for which he couldn't forgive himself.

He was tortured by the memory of that night in her apartment when he had waited for her, after the debacle in Russia. His intention in going there had surely been to make her understand how much danger she was putting herself in, but he had allowed the worst in him to prevail and he had been so angry, even rough with her. He had been desperate for her love and understanding, but most of all for her to _listen to him_, and just _allow him to protect her_. Whatever his motivations had been, the truth was that he had behaved despicably. He had tried to gain control over the situation – over her – through sex, which was unforgivable. He had frightened her, and he didn't understand why she had continued to see him after that night. He was a _monster._ And now she was gone, and he could be glad for her if only he knew that she was safe.

Whilst his initial investigations had taken place he had remained in the hotel room in which they had spent their last night, but after finding the fulcrum he knew it was time to leave. Later that week the hotel manager received a hefty deposit into his bank account along with a standing order and instructions to keep the room completely untouched and available indefinitely.

Some weeks later, Mr Kaplan opened the door to the sitting room of the latest safe house and regarded her employer, sitting slumped in a chair by the window. It seemed to her that he had aged 5 years since the sudden departure of Elizabeth Keen. He started when he saw her, and leaned forward with searching eyes.

"Kate, is there any news? You've found something?"

"Yes."

She must have looked concerned because his face hardened. "Spit it out".

Kaplan began to speak, gently, but matter-of-factly. She would have given anything not to have to been the one to impart this particular piece of news.

"As you know, based on her last known movements we plotted a search grid which contained Kennet international. We've been focussing on the airport, but it occurred to me that there is a small private clinic nearby. I managed to get hold of their records for that day. There was no Elizabeth Keen, but they did see a young woman calling herself Naomi Scott. I compared her medical records with those of Agent Keen, and they're a match, except…"

She paused. "Raymond, she's pregnant. They confirmed it that day."

She saw shock register in his eyes. After a moment, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Raymond…"

He cut her off. "Thank you Kate, that will be all."

She paused and then nodded, closing the door behind her.

He tried to breathe but it was like a fist had gripped his heart. Naomi. Scott. It was a message, he was sure of it. She felt endangered, and wanted to get away from him. To be protected from her association with him. Why else would she have chosen his ex-wife's name? And pregnant. It had floored him. The thought of her out there, unprotected, carrying his child was unbearable. But then, so was thinking about what she must have gone through.

What was it that had made her so sure she couldn't share this with him? Did she think he couldn't protect them? That she'd do a better job alone? For God's sake! But even as he had the thought he knew. She was afraid of him. The thought hit him like ice creeping in his gut. He had shown her the darkest part of himself and she was afraid of him. She hadn't wanted to raise a child with him. He stood and leaned with both hands against the mantelpiece, muscles tensed and breathing hard. "Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie." He grabbed his glass and threw it into the fireplace.

~TBL~TBL~TBL~

Somewhere in downtown Washington, Liz bangs on the door of a converted warehouse and after a while a man answers. He is armed. "Hi Tom" she says. "I need your help."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N Liz tries to arrange a new life for herself but Tom has other ideas... Usual angst plus some difficult home truths for Liz. Enjoy!_**

Across the stratosphere

A final message, "Give my wife my love"  
Then nothing more  
Far beneath the ship, the world is mourning  
They don't realize, he's alive  
No one understands

but Major Tom sees

(Major Tom, by Peter Schilling)

Tom's eyes narrowed as he regarded his former wife through the crack in the door. Observing her travel bag he met her eyes momentarily before nodding. "Come in Liz". She entered without a word, throwing her bags down in the corner before sinking into a seat at the large wooden table in front of her. She squinted slightly; the lighting the warehouse was harsh, a naked, fluorescent bulb hung down above her head, illuminating a basic kitchen area. She noted a portable gas stove and, with a wry smile, a bottle of instant pancake mix on the sideboard.

She nodded towards it "I guess Jacob Phelps is really into pancakes – I figured you only made them because it's what you thought the perfect husband would do."

He sighed. "Why are you here Liz? What's happened?"

"Straight to business then" she said, eyeing him from her seat at the table. "Here are the cliff notes. I've left the FBI. I need to disappear for a bit – I've managed to get passports, but I don't really have anything I need to get set up properly. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know how to reinvent myself, and that's kind of your specialty. So… I'm back to where I started. I need your help."

Tom looked at her incredulously, before breaking into laughter. "What the hell happened anyway? Tell me, how did you end up at my door with a go-bag tonight?"

"That's none of your business." she said matter-of-factly.

Tom smiled humorlessly, rubbing his finger across his top lip for a second, a gesture Liz recalled from their time together. "I think it is. Forgetting the fact that you kept me prisoner on some rusty old barge, if I'm going to stick my neck out for you I should at least know what I'm getting myself into."

Liz looked down at her hands, worrying her scar with her thumb. Tom continued, his voice wary. "What is it Liz? It must be pretty bad. Has it got something to do with Reddington?"He saw her stiffen slightly. "Jesus, Liz. What have you gotten yourself into? Trust me, neither of us can afford to take him on. I told you he's not who you think he is. He's playing you."

Liz shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Will you help me or not?" Tom ran his hand over his shaved head, and got up from the table. Retrieving two glasses he poured a slug of neat vodka into one. Before he could fill the other, he heard Liz say "not for me thanks."

He frowned slightly. "What happened to my wife who was always desperate for a drink after a tough day?" She just shrugged, so he sat back down at the table, emptying his glass in one go. "How about I make an alternative suggestion? I get that boat, and you come away with me. We could do it together Liz, no lies. Just us." He was looking at her earnestly now, a tiny flicker of hope in his eyes. "To be honest, you're not the only one who needs to start over. There's a target on my back while I stay here."

"Then why are you still here? You could have disappeared any time."

Tom looked across the table at her, his expression softening. "This is why I stayed, Liz. For the day you knocked on my door. I still love you. Let's start over."

Liz rolled her eyes. "We don't even know each other, not really."

"Then get to know me." Tom's voice was pleading. "So Tom Keen was a bastard. What about Jacob? Maybe you can give him a shot? Come with me Liz. Reddington is dangerous and he will destroy you. I can't protect you from him here but we can get away from him, from all of it."

Liz 's heart was starting to pound. "Who says I need protecting from him?" she shot back. "You don't know anything." As she spoke she got up from the table, distancing herself from him.

Tom's jaw clenched. As she moved he saw her wobble on her feet, catching the sideboard to steady herself. She swallowed hard. He regarded her for a moment, before standing abruptly, scraping his chair back with a sickening screech on the floor. He advanced on her quickly and raised his hand, testing a theory. He was vindicated when her hand flew instinctively to her stomach as he approached. He stopped dead in his tracks. "So that's why you're not drinking" he said quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to keep her voice even but her secret was out and they both knew it. Tom's face was ashen.

"I don't understand" he said slowly. "You always wanted to adopt. Or did you just not want my child?" his tone was bitter. "Has this got something to do with why you're leaving?"

Liz sighed. "It wasn't exactly planned Tom. Just take my word for it, I need to get out."

Tom's expression softened. He approached her and took her hand gently - "I'm happy for you Liz, I really am. And my offer still stands. Think about it, you can't stay here in hiding if you've got a kid to worry about."

Liz laughed hollowly. "Are you serious? You want me to come away with you when you know I'm carrying another man's child?"

Tom shrugged. "We were going to adopt – it's basically the same isn't it? Even after everything we've been through I still want that life with you. I know you don't believe me but I've always wanted it." His voice had taken on a desperate tone. Liz shook her head in resignation, and watched his face harden.

"Whose is it anyway? You get knocked up by some FBI big shot? Or did some criminal charm his way into your pants?" he said spitefully.

She didn't answer but it was too late – the pieces were falling to place and she saw Tom's face grow dark. "It's Reddington's isn't it?" he said, his tone dangerously quiet. "That's why you need to escape. Oh my God Liz."

Liz's face crumpled with the effort of holding back sobs. She hadn't cried, not this whole time. She had no-one in the world to share this with, the weight of her secret pressing down on her like a stone. "I… I'm just worried for my child. I need to protect this baby."

Tom was pacing back and forth in front of her, his expression alternating between hurt and angry. "You've got more to worry about than that, Liz" he spat. "Reddington's dangerous. Does he know about the baby? Fuck Liz, he's always been using you, and when he's done he's going to kill you."

As much as Liz had tried to be strong, Tom's harsh words struck fear into her heart. What had she done? How had she gotten into this mess? She lashed out defiantly. "He would never hurt me or our child! And he doesn't know anyway. God Tom, you don't know what you're talking about."

A flash of anger crossed Tom's face then. "I know a lot more than you think" he snarled. "I'm amazed his people aren't at the door right now, he'd never let you out of his sight, baby or not. It's only a matter of time before he finds you."

Liz was becoming increasingly uneasy. "I know he had me followed but that was because of what happened to Agent Malik -"

Tom laughed, cutting her off. "You're so naive Liz. Reddington doesn't leave anything to chance. How do you think I ended up in your life? How do you think you ended up with a spy for hire?"

Liz turned white, and gripped the sideboard behind her. "You're lying" she whispered.

"It's true" Tom said triumphantly. "The passports you found came from Reddington. He hired me to come into your life."

"No…" Liz moaned, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks. "He wouldn't. He would have told me…. He wouldn't do that to me."

Tom's face grew thunderous. "You're in love with him! I can't believe I didn't see this coming. You know, I thought I had you, at least while we were married. But you were never really mine, were you? You were always his" Tom said bitterly.

"I don't understand" Liz whispered, holding back sobs. "I hadn't even met him then."

"I'm amazed he didn't have me castrated when I got together with you-" Tom cut himself off abruptly.

Liz's head shot up to look at him. "So he didn't hire you to marry me? He didn't put you in my bed?"

Tom crossed his arms defiantly. "No, I did that all by myself. He hired me to protect you from a distance Liz, but I fell in love with you. I couldn't help that. I love you."

"You love me?! You don't know the meaning of the word!" She yelled. "You're a total fake who lied to me for years!" Liz's head was spinning - it made a horrible kind of sense, of course Red was behind Tom. He'd shown so much interest in her marriage since day one, always trying to warn her off him. Tom had betrayed her and Red. _Why hadn't he just told her the truth?_ she thought desolately. Even now her heart cried out with every fiber to be in his arms, to have him tell her it wasn't true, that he hadn't kept this from her. She had never felt more alone than she did in that moment.

She grabbed her bag and made for the door. "What was I thinking coming to you for help?" She shot at Tom. "I'm sorry I came!"

Tom seethed as the door banged shut behind her. Existing there like a miserable shadow in the warehouse, even after everything, he had clung to the desperate hope that they might be able to start again. That he could live happily ever after with his wife. But now his last hope had left, slamming the door in his face. Reddington. She had chosen Reddington. A man who was so much more corrupt than him, a man who had hung like a specter over his life ever since he married her. _You're not sorry Liz, but you will be_, he thought, his features dark and mouth set in a cruel line. He grabbed his phone and started dialing. "I have information I think you're interested in. Elizabeth Keen just left my place."

_TBC_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Red finally gets some answers - unfortunately they are the ones he fears the most. Meanwhile Lizzie has to bear the consequences of her actions. As ever, I don't own The Blacklist! Reviews make my day :-) **

Calling your name in the midnight hour  
Reaching for you from the endless dream  
So many miles between us now  
But you are always here with me  
(Here with me, Susie Suh)

Several more weeks passed and Red had heard nothing of Liz, but other forces were at work which troubled him. After she and the clowns at the FBI had helped botch his operation in Russia his intel had been severely compromised, but he was seeing signs that things were moving there. Not signs that anyone else would pick up – things that only he would put together. That's what made him so effective; he made it his business to know pieces of puzzles other people hadn't considered. Several accounts at Monarch Douglas Bank had been cleared out, and one public figure with whom he did regular business sent a terribly polite message that his services were not required at present. Then another. People were running scared, hunkering down. It was as if now that he finally had the fulcrum they were suddenly convinced that he didn't, which meant they had good reason to believe that someone else did, which wasn't good at all. The balance of power was shifting.

When he received a message from one of his trusted street level assets to meet him in a park he went eagerly, hoping to gain some insight into the recent activity, or perhaps even news of her. He sat on the bench bathed in afternoon sunlight watching ordinary people going about their lives. He barely felt human any more. When a man sat next to him he sighed in resignation. It was assistant director Cooper. How had this happened? Perhaps in losing Lizzie he had lost his edge. And without either of those, he was nothing.

"Is this how it happens, Harold? Agent Keen leaves along with my immunity deal, you bring me in and I never see the light of day again. Correct?"

Cooper paused, staring out over the park.

"No." He said after a while, as if it was difficult for him. "As far as the FBI is concerned, you are in the wind and I am not here."

"Well then, what can I do for you?" Red said, feigning a bright tone.

"I'll get to the point, Reddington. A joint CIA task force in Russia have been monitoring the activities of a group of rogue former KGB agents for some time." Red's pulse quickened but he said nothing. "One of their operatives managed to get close to an operations center based in an old college building in Moscow, close enough to get tactically useful photographs of the layout and shots of some of the inhabitants. When they ran facial recognition they got a match. It was Agent Keen." And Red thought his heart would stop. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't that. Cooper continued: "She doesn't appear to have been harmed, but she's been held there for several weeks – we put together a timeline after a witness came forward to say she saw a woman being dragged into a van near Southern Avenue."

"Southern Avenue?" Red repeated. He already knew why it sounded familiar, and it twisted his gut. Everything was now so clear. Tom Keen had kept a hideout near there. She had gone to Tom. She had trusted him, and he had sold her out to the very people he had been trying to shield her from. It made sense with the recent changes in criminal and political activity he had observed - it wasn't that they had the fulcrum – they had _her_.

Cooper paused. "Red, my request to mobilize an extraction team was denied – the CIA are at the apex of a critical mission, and Agent… _Miss_ Keen is no longer a member of the bureau. Not since her resignation was authenticated. My hands are tied. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Red's mind was racing and his stomach like lead. God the baby – what about the baby? When he spoke it was brief, and controlled. "You don't need to say another word Harold." Red rose from the bench and began to walk away before turning back to Cooper, his lip trembling almost imperceptibly. "Thank you." Cooper nodded and the two men walked away in opposite directions, one with his task accomplished, the other's just beginning.

BLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBL

Thousands of miles away, Liz woke from a nightmare, almost the same as the one she had been having most of her life. She heard the crackling of fire, and child crying, but this time it wasn't her crying in the burning house, it was her child, her child she couldn't find in the smoke and heat, and there was no man to carry them out of the flames. She worked out she had been there for 38 days, marking each sunset she saw from the window with a mark on the wall. During that time she had begun to feel the baby move, as though her child was willing her to live through this. She thought of Red, communicating silently with her with his eyes, and thought hazily that perhaps his child was doing the same thing in the only way he could. He. She had no way of knowing for sure, but to her the baby was a boy. His father's son.

In the time she had been there she had been able to glean a little information, enough to know she was back in Russia, and enough to know that her captors wanted her alive, at least for now. She was given rooms in part of an old building, hastily converted, she thought, with a simple sitting room, bathroom and a bedroom which was fitted with a hospital bed complete with restraints, the sight of which chilled her. When she arrived, she found a plastic crate on the table filled with medications – the language on packaging was Russian, but each had a label on the front with basic instructions in English – Iron, twice a day. Vitamins, once a day. They were trying to make sure she and the baby were ok. She took comfort in that, and took the medications religiously.

There were windows in the sitting room which stayed shuttered, and she spent most days sitting nearby, soaking up the strips of light which came through the slats, and thinking bleakly of how she had ended up there. Tom had sold her out, that much was clear now. It was too much of a coincidence that she had been taken right after leaving him. She cursed herself for thinking that he might help her. For thinking that she could just disappear. But the thing that haunted her most was Red. She felt the bitter sting of betrayal, for putting Tom in her life and for shutting her out. But now that she was apart from him, she yearned for him like a sickness gnawing at her heart. Each day her mind visited her with new torments; the fear that he would find out about the baby and reject them, the fear that he would try to control their lives with power games and secrecy, and, above all, the fear that she would eventually die here and he would never know he had a child, or how much she loved him.

The old Liz would have tried to run. Tried to find a way out. Would have fought till the end. But not now. Everything she observed told her that she wasn't in immediate danger. And given that, the best thing she could do for her baby was to stay put, at least for now. Try to learn as much as she could before figuring out her next move. Her guards spoke little English and said almost nothing to her except to ask whether she needed further medications. A week in, she tried asking for a doctor and to her surprise had been visited later that same day by a youngish woman who arrived with a portable ultrasound, took her blood pressure and palpated her stomach. The woman didn't speak a word to her, but she did hold the monitor so that Liz could see the baby before she left, which made Liz cry inconsolably.

Finally, she was taken downstairs to meet a middle-aged Russian man with weather-beaten skin, who spoke to her dispassionately in heavily accented English. She expected to be questioned about the Fulcrum, but it wasn't mentioned. He called her Masha, and told her to call him 'dyadya'. "Father?" she whispered, her heart racing. "No - uncle" he responded. "We shall have to improve your Russian, so much time has gone by, yes?"

"Are you my uncle?" She asked, and he frowned at that but didn't answer her. "You'd better talk to me – I've been kept here for weeks with no explanation. Why am I here? Tell why me you kidnapped me!"

He sighed. "It is not 'kidnapping' as you say to bring a person home. You will understand soon." He approached her and cupped her face with his hand. "There is so much you will do for us."

His touch and the certainty with which he spoke filled her with panic and she slapped his hand away. "I'm not doing anything for you! Tell me what the hell is going on!" As soon as she struck him the two guards who had been stationed at the door appeared on either side of her, holding her arms firmly.

The man hissed in annoyance at the blow. "You will calm yourself - you must think of your child. Until you learn to respect the needs of your country, your child will be reason enough for you to do as you are told."

Liz felt a wave of ice-cold panic roll over her, and tried in vain to shake herself free from the grip of the guards. "Don't you _dare_ threaten my child!"

He shook his head and spoke with an air of cold authority. "I would never wish to have to do so. Children are the hope for the future of our country. But you should learn now that if you want to see your child after it is born, you will do exactly as I say. When I ask questions you will answer fully. When I give you a task you will complete it without question. And Masha…" he stepped towards her, squeezing her cheeks in his hand. "You will sleep with who I tell you to." His eyes were cold and calculating. She cried out and tried to wrench her face away but the grip of the guards tightened. After a moment, he released her, and instructed the guards in Russian.

They escorted her roughly back to her rooms, this time marching her through the sitting room to the bedroom where they pinned her to the bed. For a second her mind fogged with panic - how hard could she afford to fight back? What about the baby? She had managed to stay calm for weeks, but she broke now, screaming as she felt the restraints on the hospital bed being buckled tightly around her wrists and ankles. Flashbacks from when she was held by Braxton invaded her consciousness; the tightness of the leather, the chemical smell and memories of the fire as real as they had ever been left her with a strange sense of guilt that she couldn't place.

Once she was restrained she was temporarily overwhelmed with relief to see that the guards were leaving her room. The last one slapped her hard on the cheek and said 'be good' in a thick accent, but after that he followed his colleagues out, locking the door behind him and leaving her helpless and alone - more alone than she had ever been. For as terrifying as her previous brushes with those forces after the fulcrum had been, she had always had Red. He had saved her from Braxton. He had been with her when the interrogator had questioned her. But this time was different. This time he didn't know where she was, and he wouldn't be looking for her. She had left him. She knew that deep down he believed she was better off without him, and her leaving would only cement that.

As she lay there unable to move, the guilt she had felt grew and weighed heavily on her heart: a childhood memory just out of reach; knowing that she had left Red with no explanation other than his own belief of his worthlessness; and ultimately the knowledge that her child was in peril because of her own actions. She cried until she was exhausted, falling into a fitful sleep at last. Some hours later, she jolted awake when a man's hand clamped over her mouth.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Liz's rescue doesn't go according to plan. She recovers a devastating memory which puts her in grave danger - will Red be there to help her through it? A little more action than I'm used to – it was fun to write! As ever, I don't own the blacklist, I just enjoy putting the characters in the centre of gun fights ;-) Enjoy, and please do review!**

You were born into a strange world.  
Like a candle, you were meant to share the fire.  
I don't know where we come from, and I don't know where we go.  
But my arms were made to hold you, so I will never let you go.  
Cuz you were born, to change this life.  
You were born, to chase the light.  
(You were born, Cloud Cult)

She struggled wildly but it was useless against the restraints, and then she heard the man speak, his accent unmistakably American. "Miss Keen… My name is Peter. It's alright, we're here to get you out." Her eyes widened and as she adjusted to the dark she saw that there were several men in the room, dressed uniformly in black combat gear and armed. She almost wept with relief – FBI special ops, it had to be. Cooper came through for her. "Miss Keen…" she turned her eyes back to the face of the stranger standing over her. "I'm going to take my hand away now – I need you to be very quiet and do exactly as I say, ok?" She nodded, and he removed his hand before gesturing to two of his colleagues "Untie her, quickly."

Soon she was on her feet, adrenaline coursing through her. As she pulled her hair back off her face she heard one of the men reporting in low tones to Peter, who was clearly in charge. "We've taken out the power and the security crew in the grounds and main building, but no sign of Ryzhanov or the other one." Peter nodded and turned to Liz. "Are you injured? Can you walk?"

Liz fixed him with a hard stare. "I can do better than walk. Give me a gun." He raised his eyebrows and she sighed exasperatedly. "Oh come on, AD Cooper must have briefed you, I can handle a weapon."

He frowned for a second but then removed a glock from his Kevlar vest and handed it to her. He watched as she checked the magazine and then cocked the weapon, and then nodded at her. "Stay behind me. Let's move."

The building was dark, but the moon was high in the sky, casting shadows as they shuffled along the wall of the corridor and down the stairs. Liz's heart hammered in her chest and she felt a little dizzy; she knew Ryzhanov – the man she knew as 'uncle' - was still out there, and she hadn't been given anything to eat or drink that evening. As they progressed in silence down the shadowy corridor which led to the courtyard, they passed an office room full of box files. The men cleared the room quickly and moved on but something occurred to Liz. The files weren't dusty like much of the stuff which hailed from the building's days as an educational establishment. They had been put there recently, and she could see that the room was next to the sitting room where she had been taken to see Ryzhanov. Her heart rate increased. If she was ever going to get answers, this was her chance.

She slipped into the room and was making for the files sitting on the desk when she felt fingers close firmly around her arm. She turned to see Peter frowning at her, and gesturing back towards the corridor.

"No" she faltered. "All the information, it's here, I know it! I can't leave without knowing the truth, my parents…"

She saw his face change and he raised his weapon, pointing at a target behind her. She spun round in time to see Ryzhanov fire at her rescuer. She drew her own weapon, but it was instantly knocked out of her hands by another man behind her. He yelled at Rzyhanov in Russian, and then placed the cold barrel of his gun to her temple, his arm crushingly tight around her throat. She began to feel more and more dizzy – there was so much shouting. The men were arguing in Russian but she couldn't tell what about – maybe her. It was hauntingly familiar. She could hear the special ops team outside the door; more shouting - "it's over, let her go!"

She heard the sickening sound of a bullet ripping through flesh, the metallic smell of blood and the man holding her dropped to the floor. Instantly, she dropped with him, grabbing her gun from the floor and pointing it at Rzyhanov. He looked down at her with cold, thunderous eyes and shouted again in Russian, calling her Masha and yelling. She was so _dizzy_, so _angry _and _frightened_, she knew she had to do _something_, and she realised she was holding it, she could _make it stop_, and before she knew what she was doing she had squeezed the trigger. She watched Rzyhanov fall lifeless to the floor.

And there it was. She was a child again, a four year old girl standing in front of the body of her father, a gun falling from her hand to the floor. That was the truth; she knew it as certainly as she knew now that Red loved her, that this was what he had tried to keep from her, not to protect himself, but to protect her. She felt blood rushing in her ears and the shouts of the special ops team in the background, and then a deep and terrible pain in her abdomen as the dizziness overcame her and she slipped unconscious to the ground.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

The Moscow operation had been planned flawlessly. The moment he left Cooper, Red had begun to mobilise a team, people he had selected, trained, nurtured – only people he could trust with his life. Her life. This mission had none of the complexities he was used to navigating – there were no mixed agendas, no hierarchy of priorities, and one objective only: To get Lizzie out and back to the states unharmed. Had he been running this extraction on behalf of a client he wouldn't have lost much sleep over it. But this time he had been incapable of keeping a straight head.

As he made his way to the hospital, Red went over and over it in his mind. When they had gone over the plan, scanning for any eventualities and coming up with contingencies, Mr Kaplan had gently but firmly pointed out that he 'was in no fit state' to lead the operation, that he had to leave it to the team. He'd hated being told that, hated it with a consuming passion that compounded the weight of his failure to protect her. But in the end, he'd agreed. He knew full well that the best laid plans failed because of the human element. You never get emotionally involved. How many clients of his had messed up his disappearance package because of emotional ties they couldn't shake? Hardened criminals with mothers, brothers, children. Children. He felt sick.

The truth was, he hadn't agreed to stay away because of any of that, not really. He'd done it because he was afraid she wouldn't want him there. Before she was taken she hadn't wanted to be found, and worse, she'd gone back to Tom. She wouldn't want to see him. He had thought that if everything went according to plan – and he had gone to great lengths to ensure that it would – she may never even know he had been involved in her rescue at all. But it hadn't gone to plan.

When Peter had come to him, arm in a sling, to brief him on the outcome of the extraction, his relief that she was back in the states was quickly tempered with panic and rage. He listened to Peter's solemn account of the events – Ryzhanov – Lizzie's detour to get the files – a hostage situation – her shooting Ryzhanov and going into a hypertensive crisis – being transferred to hospital in critical condition – and Peter would have been dead by the end were it not for the fact that he took full responsibility for the outcome. Peter lived to see another day because he didn't try to blame her, which he could have done, because, as Red listened, it became clear to him that she had done what she had always done. She had rushed in, in search of answers without thinking, endangering herself and others. As he marched through the doors of the private hospital he tried to put aside the nagging thought that he had concealed many of those answers for which she had endangered herself so often.

He didn't know what he planned to do once he got there, only that he felt a desperate need to be near her, the depth of which shocked him. Even if she didn't want to see him, he needed to know she was safe. He needed to know about the child. As he walked the corridors his head was willing him to turn around, to leave and never come back. It was what she wanted. He was an incredibly resilient man – he had to be. But since receiving the briefing from Peter, his resolve was utterly failing him. He had to see her. Just once.

A nurse appeared and he managed to make a strangled enquiry as to her condition. "Sorry, who are you?" She responded.

He paused, and then said "I'm the father." The nurse frowned for a second and painfully he realised the ambiguity of his statement.

"Sir, she's going to be fine." The nurse said, gently. "She gave us a bit of a scare – she was severely hypertensive and dehydrated when she came in but we got it under control."

"The baby." He whispered, unable to maintain his authoritative tone any more. "What about the baby?"

"Doing well, good strong heartbeat. They're both fine" She said, smiling. Do you want to come and see?" He hesitated, his relief tempered by a raging internal battle. "She's asleep at the moment" the nurse added. And that was enough. He followed her silently down the corridor, until she gestured towards a room filled with afternoon sun. And there she was, his Lizzie, asleep, peaceful.

The first thing that struck him was how much younger she looked than when he had seen her last – her face was rounder, softer, with rosy cheeks and her hair had grown longer. He saw two monitors by the bed, emitting a steady beeping. It took him a second to realise what the second one was for. His baby. His baby's heartbeat, strong and steady. He had intended to leave after he had seen her, but the moment he had, he couldn't tear himself away. He entered the room quietly, careful not to wake her. He sat in a chair next to the bed, and looked at her face, warm in the soft glow from the window, her thick lashes closed against her pink cheeks, her breathing hypnotic and reassuring. He reached out and gently took her hand, needing to touch her, to feel her skin to make sure she really had returned.

She stirred in her sleep. As she slowly made her way towards consciousness she smiled – she could sense him, his touch, his smell - she was sure it was him. She could tell him she knew the truth, that he had always protected her. She opened her eyes expectantly but the room was empty and there was no sign that anyone had been there. She closed her eyes again, a tear spilling over as she shut her lids.

The next time she woke, Cooper was sitting in the chair beside the bed, tapping away on his phone. He smiled broadly when he noticed that she was awake. "Liz! Welcome home. It's a relief to see you back safely."

"Is that on behalf of the bureau?" She smiled weakly.

"It's on behalf of your team" he said resolutely. "Ressler, Aram and Samar all send their best. They'd like to see you if you feel up to it." He nodded towards the monitors. "Does that mean what I think it means? Are you…"

"Pregnant?" She finished for him.

"Yes." He looked stricken, and realisation dawned on Liz. "Oh no, no, I was pregnant before I was taken - it's why I left."

He relaxed visibly. "That makes sense. The first thing that really has for a while." "I'm so sorry we weren't able to get you out" he continued, "after you resigned there was very little we could do. Through official channels." He added.

She frowned. "What do you mean? There was an extraction team, you got me out." She sat bolt upright as she saw him shaking his head. "How did I get here?"

"You don't know?"

She shook her head, although the truth was already creeping into her consciousness. The extraction team had been professional and courteous, but there were no familiar faces and no badges that she remembered. They'd never said who they were.

Cooper continued: "Like I said, I couldn't go through official channels. I tried but it wasn't an option. So I reached out to…a friend."

"Reddington." She whispered.

"Yes."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N Red and Liz finally reunite after difficult months apart, but a lot of damage has been done. Mega angst with a small helping of fluff. As ever, not mine and please do review! **

Are we better human beings?  
We've got our wires all crossed  
Our tubes are all tied  
And I'm straining to remember  
Just what it means to be alive  
A life worth living  
Now you can feel it in your chest  
Buildin' like little bullets  
Just building up the nest

(State of the Art AEIOU, by Jim James)

In the end Liz persuaded Cooper to call Dembe and set up the meeting. She didn't want Red to know that it was her. She didn't know how he felt towards her. She had left him with no explanation and she didn't know for sure whether he had been at the hospital. If his people had been the ones to rescue her, then he must know about her condition. She was showing unmistakably at this point. She was pregnant, and he knew, and she felt nauseous even though her morning sickness had long ceased. As she sat on the bench in the park she tried to imagine his reaction when he had found out. Shock, definitely. Anger. Sadness. Fear. Perhaps even disgust. After a short while she saw Dembe approach her from the path. Of course he wouldn't come himself, she thought sadly.

As Dembe saw the beautiful woman in front of him, so full of hope, her stomach swollen under a loose fitting sun dress and casual jacket, he worried desperately that she would be disappointed to see him instead of his employer. But if she was disappointed, she didn't show it. She gave him a warm smile as he approached, and embraced him like an old friend. "Dembe".

"Elizabeth" he said, returning her smile.

They sat together on the bench and Liz sighed. "I guess it's too much to hope he didn't know it was me?"

Dembe sat silently for a moment before responding. "Raymond is a complicated man, and a wise one. But in this he is wrong."

Liz smiled sadly at him. "You don't need to say that, Dembe. I understand. I do. But if you wouldn't mind, I would appreciate it if you could just pass on a message. It's important" she said, her hand resting on her stomach.

Dembe's eyes followed her hand to her stomach and then returned to her face. "No Elizabeth" he said quietly.

Tears sprang to her eyes then. Doing her best to be calm, she tried again. "Dembe I know I've hurt him, but-" He cut her off by bringing his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "I mean, Elizabeth, that Raymond is like a brother to me and I will not allow him to make this mistake. I will not bring any message – he must listen to you himself."

Liz sat there stunned as Dembe rose from the bench, produced a phone from his pocket and began to dial. "Raymond…. I am with Elizabeth. You need to come here yourself my friend….Raymond… my mother used to say that you should never keep a woman waiting. Especially if she is pregnant" he finished resolutely, hanging up the phone. Dembe turned back to Liz. "He is coming."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

When Red's familiar silhouette emerged on the path, Dembe rose to greet him. They spoke for a moment and Liz remained on the bench, wondering about the nature of their exchange. Dembe's assertiveness had surprised her, and she wondered whether it had surprised Red too. After a moment, Dembe stepped away, and Red approached the bench, sitting down wordlessly next to her. He wore his trademark sunglasses, making it impossible for her to read his expression.

"Are you well?" he said stiffly after a pause. "There's no problem with-" she cut him off gently.

"We're both fine, Red. I'm due in 3 months."

Red nodded, working the tension in his jaw. "You didn't need to see me Elizabeth. You know that neither of you will ever want for a thing. Dembe will make any arrangements necessary."

Liz frowned. "That's not why I wanted to see you." He didn't respond, although she thought she saw him twitch behind the sunglasses. "Ray… please take off your glasses, I need to look at you." After a beat he removed his glasses and slipped them into his pocket. His face was thinner and his gaze when he met her eyes was almost haunted. The look of a broken man.

She felt a wave of shame wash over her, and struggled to look him in the eye. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you" she whispered. And then "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He took a shallow breath and looked away from her as he spoke. "I don't require gratitude or apologies. I never expected you to want a relationship with me, nor is it something I wanted for you."

Liz's heart sank. Perhaps he never really wanted her. Was it possible she was so caught up with passion and the intensity of it all that she didn't see it? She couldn't operate on his level, and he had been right – she had endangered them, and now their child. She felt a chill despite the warmth of the afternoon sun as it danced through the trees. "I fell in love with you." She felt oddly dizzy as the words left her mouth; it wasn't what she'd intended to say – so stark, and plaintive.

Although his voice was gentle, his response was crushing. "Yes. And I should never have allowed it. I'm only sorry it took becoming pregnant for you to realise a life with me is the last thing that you want or need."

As she listened, Liz felt waves of vertigo wash over her, a deep emotional pain which quickly flared to anger as she took in his last statement. He was sorry she was pregnant – it was the worst thing he could have said. He could reject her, she was prepared for that. But not her child. Their child. She spoke fiercely, although her voice quavered with threatening tears. "No! Don't you _dare_ say you are sorry about this" she said, placing her hands over her stomach. "_Don't you dare_!"

He responded immediately and with equal anger, although his tone was clipped and bitter. "I imagine carrying my child would have complicated your future with Tom somewhat." He watched her face pale and instantly regretted allowing his jealousy to get the better of him in what was already such a bleak situation. He cursed Dembe silently for forcing the meeting. He cursed the whims of a younger man who still believed in love and redemption.

She took a breath before responding. "Is that where you think I was? With Tom?" Red stared ahead and said nothing. She sighed. "I only saw him once. The night I was taken. I went to him for help and he sold me out, Ray. And you don't know how many nights…every night since then I've hated myself for going to him, for all of this." When he still didn't respond she began to feel increasingly desperate. Desperate and angry. She fixed him with a hard stare even though he wasn't looking at her. She spoke quietly and clearly, watching his face for his reaction. "I know it was you who hired him."

She saw Red's mouth set in a hard line as she spoke, and then he closed his eyes, his face seeming to fall as though he had lost something cherished, and dearly wanted to put off the moment of acceptance. It was heart-breaking to see him so dejected, to watch him crumble, and frightening too; much as she had hated his mask of clipped composure, it hurt her to see him suffering.

She reached tentatively for his hand, laying her fingers on top of his. "I know you hired him to protect me. Not to have a relationship with me. I know you've always tried to protect me - in your own way." She smiled softly, but he removed his hand gently from hers, as if he found it painful.

"Yes" he said hollowly. "I hired Tom in an ultimately futile effort to keep you safe." He paused, as if collecting himself. "You and the child will always be protected from any dangers associated with me and my enterprises, you need not be concerned about that. I have been in the process of concluding my business here and overseas for some months." His tone was wooden.

Liz frowned. "Why would you do that? Did you renegotiate your immunity deal?"

"The details don't concern you. All you need to know is that when I learned that you were pregnant I took certain steps to minimise the risk to you and the child from any association with me…You can live your lives without looking over your shoulder" he said guardedly.

"What steps, Ray?" She said quietly. "What were you planning?" He didn't reply, but his blank expression chilled her. Without a deal or his empire his options were prison or death.

She let out a sob that she had been holding back, and at that moment the baby decided to serve her a particularly hard kick. She gasped and her hand flew to her stomach.

In an instant he closed the gap between them, placing a hand on her arm. "Lizzie are you alright?" he asked urgently, his guarded expression broken and his face etched with concern.

Liz took a deep breath. "Yes – the baby's kicking, that's all. He's got mind of his own - takes after his father." When she looked at Red she thought she saw tears in his eyes.

"Lizzie…he… a son?"

"Yes Ray" she said quietly. "Our son."

Red put a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. "Please Lizzie" he said, his voice hoarse and think with desolate emotion. She was volatile, yes, but he had never known her to be cruel. "You must be aware that this is…difficult for me. I'd appreciate it if you could do me the courtesy of telling me why you requested this meeting?"

She swallowed. "I know… I know you always said you'd had your chance at a family. And I know that a baby would be top in your catalogue of vulnerabilities. " She paused to bite back tears, and didn't notice Red flinch at hearing his words repeated back to him.

"Lizzie - "

"Please let me get this out" she said, her lip trembling with the effort of holding back the ache of sadness she felt. "The way you were with me… it was like part of you loved me but another part of you hated me for making you weak. Leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I tried to be strong and do the right thing for you and our child – it was the only thing I could think of to make sure you were both safe, because I love you Ray, I love you so much I can't breathe and I can't imagine a life without you but I will do it if I have to, if that's what it takes. When I was taken I thought of you every moment – the only thing that kept me going was the thought that I might see you again. That you might hold our child…"

With that, the tears she had been forcing back spilled over like something in her had finally broken. She kept one hand on her stomach and moved the other to cover her eyes, finding comfort in being able to hide for those extra precious seconds when her fate was not yet sealed. She was utterly terrified of what she might see when she looked at him.

_TBC_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Ok so this is the final chapter of World on Fire – this was my first and longest fic and I have so enjoyed writing it. The reviews and support I have received have made playing with these characters incredibly rewarding, for which I thank you from the bottom of my little shipper heart. My new fic, Sin, is now on the go. It's smangsty delight. Disclaimed, as ever**.

_World was on fire, no one could save me but you_ (Chris Isaak, Wicked Game)

As Red listened to her his mind fogged. Those desolate months without her had confirmed for him what he had long feared– that there was no love, no redemption waiting for him, only his pain, and the pain he would inflict on others until he died wretched and alone. And yet here she was, in front of him once again in a sunlit park like an angel reaching into the darkest pit of hell to drag him out. For a long moment he couldn't move, and he watched as she stiffened at his lack of response, removing her hand from her face to rub her scar, her eyes cast down. When she finally made to stand up he reached out and grabbed her hand.

She looked at him then with watery eyes, questioning, waiting. He shook his head and spoke slowly, his lip trembling. "In a thousand lifetimes I could never, never hate you. That you thought me capable of that pains me beyond anything. The…_hatred_ I bear is for myself alone. Lizzie, there is no pain more exquisite than knowing that your very existence jeopardizes the life of the one you love." He paused and covered their clasped fingers with his hand, as if sealing them together.

When he spoke again his green eyes were liquid, vulnerable and exposed, and, for the first time, she felt that he was allowing her access to a complete truth. "For twenty seven years, in my darkest hours, the knowledge that you were alive in the world has sustained me. And painful as they may have been, these past two years with the FBI were an incredible gift– to see the extraordinary woman you have become, to love you, to make love to you. More than I ever hoped for…or deserved."

Flooded with relief she leant forward and pressed the softest kiss into his cheek before resting her head on his chest. After a moment she felt strong arms close around her, and his smell was like the most blessed home coming. He kissed the top of her head and held her firmly against him before quickly releasing her again, making her frown.

He gave her a sad smile. "Knowing that you will be living your life freely, raising a child of mine, will sustain me to the end of my days."

She looked at him warily, trying to grasp the implications of what he had said. "I don't understand… you're not going to be with me? With us?"

He bit the inside of his cheek, his expression pained. "If recent events have proven anything, it's that I am first and foremost a danger to you…to you and our son. However much I want to be there it would be selfish and ultimately futile to think that you'd be safe while I was in your life. Lizzie the arrangements have already been made. You're going to be just fine."

As she listened a wave of panic and tears began to flutter in her chest. She shook her head vigorously. "No, no… we won't be fine Ray, not if we don't have you. I thought I could do that but I can't, I can't…"

He took her hand gently. "You can Lizzie. You are the strongest, bravest woman I have ever known. Your instincts in leaving were right – follow them now. I know you are going to be an exceptional mother."

Liz looked down as the tears dripped from her chin and left little dark spots on her dress. Then she turned to study at his face. Although he was looking at her kindly, every line seemed to have deepened; not laugh lines, but fissures which spoke of deep and protracted suffering. She steeled herself. He was right – she was strong. Strong enough for the three of them. "Tell me…" she said quietly. "If you really do want us, tell me what is so terrible, and so dangerous that I can't be with the man I love. That our child won't know his father. You said you'd shut down your criminal enterprises."

He sighed. "Yes. And in doing so I can protect you from new threats. But the past… Lizzie the past has a way of catching up. In order to survive with me you would need to know the truth, and it would change who you are irrevocably…you would always be looking over your shoulder. Sweetheart I have nothing left other than to shield you from the past and the future it would dictate for you."

Liz nodded slowly. "The past… you mean Ryzhanov? The people he worked for? The fire…" She watched as his eyes sharpened.

"Yes."

She took a deep breath. "Then I have something to tell you. I remember everything." She watched him intently; his expression was broadly unchanged, but his eyes grew apprehensive, or perhaps even fearful.

"Remember what?"

"The night of the fire. I know what happened. And I understand why you didn't want me to find out." He looked utterly stricken, and for a moment she almost wished she'd kept it from him. But they'd done enough of that. "When I shot Ryzhanov, it came back to me. They were arguing in Russian and it was like I was there. He was hurting my mother. I know why my father died that night. I shot him. And you blocked my memory – not to protect yourself. To protect me."

She watched as the blood drained from his face. He was devastated. After a moment he nodded and swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"You've always protected me."

He closed his eyes. "I tried. But I failed."

She put her hand on his cheek and he looked at her apprehensively. She was smiling. "No Ray, you didn't. I'm here." She put her hand on her stomach. "We're here. What happens next is up to you."

"Lizzie-"

She cut him off. "Before you decide, you have to realize that I'm already not the person I was. I know what happened that night. I know that Ryzhanov worked with my parents. That his organisation want to use me – Masha. I know that although he's dead, it's bigger than him. I'm ready for whatever may come. But you can't honestly tell me, knowing what I know, that we'd be safer without you."

He shook his head bleakly. "I never wanted this life for you. I never wanted you to be like me."

"And I never wanted to live a half-life, full of half-truths, or a faux marriage" she said firmly. "I want you, and our child, and to live as equals. We deal with whatever comes together. That's the life I choose. You once told me that if anyone could give you a second chance it's me. Let me do that Ray."

As she spoke his expression softened into something close to wonder. He couldn't deny it; much as he hated that she had to bear the truth, it changed everything. Here she was, asking him to treat her as an equal. In time, time spent together, she would doubtless come to understand that he could never hope to be her equal. But if she would allow him, he could spend every day in pursuit of a more noble goal: her happiness and the redemptive possibilities inherent in such an endeavor.

He looked at her, searching her face, her jaw set firm and blue eyes glittering, then tentatively placed his hand over hers where it lay on her stomach. "Let's go home Lizzie."

She smiled at him then, and it was glorious. "Where's home this week?"

He paused. "My home. I keep a small personal apartment in Bethesda."

For a moment she looked confused. "You have an apartment? Why didn't you take me there before?"

He sighed as he smiled at her. "Because it's where I keep the last of my secrets, Lizzie. And we'll have no more secrets now."

**Epilogue: 6 months later. **

Red watched from the doorway of the nursery in their secluded house as she kissed their infant son and placed him carefully in his cot. Sam. She had chosen the name, and although it was difficult at first, it felt right that his son should be named after one of the best men he had ever known, a man who'd had such a profoundly positive influence on both his and Lizzie's lives. Most of all, it was the greatest pleasure imaginable to see her so happy. After her ordeal in Russia she had been content to stay at home with their son, and he had treasured every moment. However, he knew she would grow restless and when the time came they would talk about their next move.

After her safe return, Cooper had brokered a deal which permitted them to live in private, and in peace. The FBI had made her a standing offer of employment, but they both knew that those days were gone. She was no longer an upstanding agent of the law, just as he was no longer the notorious criminal he once was. Forged together in a fire that had sent their lives hurtling on such different paths, they had managed painfully, but exquisitely to carve out a world in which they could both thrive.

Entering the nursery he walked up beside her and slipped his arm around her waist, looking down at the perfect child that they had created who was sleeping soundly. That he could have missed this was unthinkable.

"Someone's tired" he said, chuckling.

She twisted round to kiss him and he slid his hand into her hair, holding her close. She broke away, smiling wryly. "That could be because his father kept him awake, bouncing him around and telling wild tales…"

"I see. And what about his mother – is she tired too?" He smirked, pulling her in for another kiss, his hand snaking up to gently cup her breast.

Liz gasped as his fingers grazed her nipple. "I think she's starting to wake up…"

"Wonderful" he breathed into her ear. He kissed her forehead and then bent down to do the same to his son, before leading her away to the bedroom.

He undressed her slowly, almost reverently, marveling as he had many times at her post-pregnancy body. She had been shy of showing herself to him at first, aware of the profound changes to her lean frame since the first time they were together. To him she had ripened like a peach, and he delighted in telling her so, in testing the new weight of her breasts and exploring the roundness of her hips. Now as he laid her down on their bed he placed gentle kisses on her face and neck, his hand exploring her luscious curves before settling at the point between her waist and her hip, gently stroking the valley there.

He looked down at her, his eyes suddenly serious. "You are breath-taking. Absolutely perfect my love."

"And you are still fully clothed – not fair!"

He smiled mischievously. "Oh sweetheart I've never played fair. It's _far_ too delicious having you lying here helpless for me to have my wicked way-"

She reached for his tie and pulled him down into a deep kiss, before unknotting the silk, and removing his vest, followed by his shirt and undershirt and finally his suit pants and boxers. She peeled off layer upon layer until she reached the scarred, vulnerable man who lay beneath, the man who loved her unconditionally, perfectly and eternally.

He was revealed to her now the way he had been that day six months prior when he had taken her to the apartment in Bethesda. His hands shook with apprehension as he ushered her inside, knowing what she would see, that what remained of his secrets would be exposed, that he no longer had any control. He had never expected her to stay after she had seen what was there. Not after he had provided the devastating answers to her unrelenting questions and listened to her heart break for the little girl she once was. But, she told him later, where he saw only horror, she also saw love. It was the kind of love that, when the whole world has burned to the ground, is the only thing that remains – a ray of light in the darkness in which a future might be possible.

_Fin._


End file.
